Twisted Morals
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: John's morals aren't as straight as they should be, Sherlock also seems willing to do whatever he wants to get want he wants and Jim is just there to take advantage.
1. Chapter 1

**AN- **Um... so, basically, this is how I picture John with a slightly twisted moral compass. Disclaimer- don't own.

Enjoy!

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><p>John was sat in his chair with the morning paper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Sherlock had gone out for some reason or other and it was his day off. After a month of night shifts and a flatmate shoot the wall from boredom, the doctor was just happy to have a bit of a rest. He drained his cup as the door flew open and the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes burst through the door. He whipped round the flat before coming to face John.<p>

'We need to go.' He stated. 'Now.' The soldier betrayed the quirk of an eyebrow but stood, slipping his gun into the hidden holster. After four months with the consulting detective, John knew that if the man said they needed to leave, they needed to leave. Even if it was for some stupid reason that seemed like an attempt to get him on his feet again. They ran back through the door and out into the chill evening air.

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><p>John ran a few steps behind his flatmate so the other man could lead the way. He silently wondered why they weren't getting a cab like usual then he got the feeling that they were being tailed. He forced himself to look at Sherlock and not behind him. If they were being followed then his flatmate wanted them to be followed which meant him turning around could give the game away. Not to mention he would probably lose sight of the other man in the fading light.<p>

They turned off into a cluster of warehouses. To John, they all looked like they'd been abandoned but he figured that all warehouses looked abandoned in fading light when everyone had gone home. Sherlock ran into the open cavernous entrance of a warehouse and John followed close behind.

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><p>Once inside, he was yanked by a strong hand and pulled away from the entrance. John looked and gloved hand and knew instantly it belonged to Sherlock. He moved his eyes to his flatmates face to see the man press a spindly finger to his lips, signalling silence. The soldier complied and turned to face the centre of the room where the moonlight only just stretched to. Their stalker crept inside, swiftly moving his head to check for their presence.<p>

'I know you're here, Sherlock Holmes.' He said in a thick accent. 'Make this easy on yourself and come out.' The man besides John shuffled and moved away, he moved without a sound to a safe distance away from his flatmate and then stepped out into the light. Now he had something to compare the stalker to, the doctor could see the man was huge, well built and strong. Even Sherlock's height was not enough to match him. John moved into a more stable position and carefully removed his gun. The man laughed.

'I want you to know this is nothing personal.' He boomed. Sherlock shrugged casually. The stalker drew his weapon. Two gunshots fired in the space of a millisecond and the eerie silence descended in the dank moonlit room. The three waited to see who would fall then the man's head hit the ground with a dull thud.

The thud resounded around the warehouse. John and Sherlock stared at each other, each holding a gun. Now that the man, whoever he was, was down, they seemed to be aimed straight for each other. John lowered his weapon and ran to the body, he began to check for a pulse before he noticed the two bullet holes. One in the back of the head and one in the from of his chest. Sherlock presence loomed over him. John looked up at the flaming eyes of his flatmate.

'Who shot first?' He asked in his baritone voice. 'Which bullet killed him?' The soldier looked up at him.

'I don't know.' He answered. 'It is impossible to tell.' Sherlock grabbed his chin so he couldn't look away.

'You're lying.' He said. The doctor gave him an icy glare.

'Correct. Now help me get the damned bullets out.' He snapped. The detective suddenly realised that John had not touched the body. Not left a fingerprint on it. He smiled.

'I have been such a bad influence on you.' He chuckled, handing the man a pair of forensic gloves. John slipped into them then started to pry into the bullet wounds. It was messy and he was pretty sure that the man had bled out completely judging by the amount of blood on the floor. He found the first bullet in the man's chest then moved onto the one in his brain. He glanced at Sherlock.

'It's going to get gruesome.' He warned. The detective gave him the most condescending look he could muster and the doctor returned to his work with a smirk.

A few gory minutes later, John and a decidedly paler Sherlock stood wondering how to move the body. The bullets were now safely in the doctors pocket, where even the DI wouldn't think to look.

'We could just leave it here.' John said. 'After all, warehouses are a perfect place to dump someone.' Sherlock scoffed.

'You make an awful criminal.' He sniffed. John smirked, recalling what Donavan had said the first time he'd met her. The consulting detective got onto his trail of thought immediately.

'It must be the first time she's been right in her whole time at the force.' He chuckled, picking up the legs. John hoisted the man by his shoulders so he was now off the ground completely.

'So what are we doing with him?' John asked. The detective looked vacant for a second.

'We passed a small boat on our way here.' He said. The doctor nodded and they shuffled back out into the night air.

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><p>The blond doctor allowed the detective to lead him to their destination, directing him which way to go. They reached the rowing boat and slung the corpse inside. Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small black piece of paper folded into a four legged animal. The soldier gave a puzzled glance, trying to work out what the animal was. After a few seconds, he finally clicked. <em>It's a horse!<em> Sherlock winked at John then slid the horse into the body's mouth. The two men then pushed the boat, along with oars, into the river.

'It will float down the river and wash up on shore, most likely on the west bank. We need to go back to the warehouse and sweep the area. And you need to get rid of those shoes.' The detective said, already moving back to the buildings. John nodded and sprinted after him.

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><p>John Watson and his flatmate returned to Baker Street at just gone three in the morning, John had bought an identical pair of shoes. Sherlock had taken his, dismantled them, and put the pieces in various backyard bonfires around the city. The doctor would never know how he managed to be so discreet. After all, the police should be able to notice someone going round chucking things on various fires, shouldn't they? He supposed it didn't really matter as he sunk into the cushions of his armchair, lifting the newspaper again.<p>

'Who was he?' John asked when Sherlock lay on the sofa.

'It's not him who matters. It's who sent him.' The detective replied. The doctor turned the page.

'And who is that?' He asked, his voice betraying a slight annoyance which was nowhere near the amount he actually felt. Sherlock smirked.

'An old friend. The less you know the better.' He replied. The soldier chewed his lip thoughtfully, he wasn't going to get anymore on the subject of this person but he did have other questions.

'The horse?' He asked.

'Hmm?' Sherlock said, looking over to him again. 'Oh, the horse.' He features grew into a grin. 'I'm surprised you recognised it. I got the idea from the Black Lotus. It really is an amazing way to mark your work.' John put the paper down, forgoing all pretences of being calm and collected.

'You've done this before.' He stated. The detective held his head high but his eyes betrayed his feelings, his wanting of John to accept him. After seeing that expression, there was no way on this earth that the mostly good doctor couldn't accept him. After all, he was Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only consulting detective.


	2. Chapter 2

Just over four hours later, John and Sherlock found themselves called to a crime scene on the bank of the Thames. They looked at each other then walked out of the flat as neither man was really wanting to go to this crime.

'Don't give anything away. They'll suspect something is off if you do. Just don't speak at all.' Sherlock commanded in hushed whispers. The doctor huffed in annoyance.

'Did you think I was just going to waltz up to them and say _Hey, you don't need to go searching for the killers because we're right here!_ I'm not that stupid.' John said defiantly. He then realised he still hadn't gotten an answer out of the man when they were still in the flat.

'The horse. Why?' He asked, more forcefully than before in the hope of getting an answer. For some crazy unknown reason, it worked.

'When made in plain paper, it's called the Day's Mare. Mine is in black paper.' He answered, looking down his nose, waiting for the moment that his friends mind figured it out. When he finally did, John 's face was a picture.

'Night's Mare. Nightmare. I see. That's brilliant.' He smiled happily, he'd worked something out for himself. Ok, so a seven year old child could work it out in half the time but the fact still stood. The detective chuckled as the car pulled to a halt and they got out.

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><p>DI Lestrade came to greet them and ushered them to the body. John kept his distance and his face straight, Sherlock was right-when was he not?-giving anything away would land them both in it. They suddenly saw the boat which had been dragged to shore. The bottom had a small puddle of black and the body seemed neatly nestled between the seats. The detective did his usual display of prancing around the body-inspecting fingernails, clothes and shoe- before finally pulling the origami horse out of the mouth. He put it in the evidence bag and gave it to John.<p>

'It's like the lotus.' The doctor said naively. Sherlock gave him the famous 'you're an idiot' look and sighed.

'Yes, but it's not. It's different paper, English.' He sniffed. Anderson seemed to creep up out of nowhere.

'Why the dog?' He asked. John carefully controlled his features. He hadn't minded the forensic detective at first, sure the guy was a prick but he did do his job and have at least enough intelligence to be deserving of it. It only took a week for the doctor to change his mind.

'Anderson, your continued insolence has reach new heights. It's not a dog. It's a horse, the Journée de Mare if I'm not mistaken. A French pattern. How it links, however; is a little more tricky.' John almost scowled as he realised the detective had translated it for him so it would be easier to work out. It seemed that Anderson didn't know a word of French as he sniffed and left them alone. The DI walked up to them, looking at the body.

'So what have you got?' He asked. Sherlock pointedly ignored him, instead turning to his partner.

'John, there's something wrong with the bullet holes.' He said. John made his way over and leant by the body, Sherlock gave him gloves again and the doctor put them on.

'Holes? But there's only one!' Lestrade called, trying to grab the detectives attention. The doctor looked round the wound for a small length of time before stopping.

'There's no bullet in here, Sherlock.' He said, putting as much confusion into his voice as he could muster.

'Try the other one.' Came the impatient reply. John shot him a glance.

'What other one?' He had to admit, he was playing his part perfectly. Sherlock made a frustrated noise.

'I thought you were better than this, John. It's obvious. Turn him over, back of the head. John complied, already knowing what he'd find. The second bullet hole was just as messy as the first, he made the metal note to never again try to remove a bullet in the dark.

'There's no bullet in this one either. Whoever took the bullets out, wasn't very good at it. Or they didn't care.' The soldier said, standing up and taking off the gloves, putting them in the bag that Scotland Yard had provided for its employees.

'So, can you tell me what we've got?' The DI asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'It is quite clearly a dead body, Lestrade.' He drawled. John shot him a glance and he continued. 'Your killer, however; was a crack shot and intelligence. He, or she as the case may be, must have dragged him on to the boat after death. He's been dead, what, a day tops. You need to find where he was killed.' Sherlock said, twirling his coat and calling for his flatmate to follow. John gave the DI an apologising glance before taking off after his flatmate.

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><p>'I think we fooled them.' John huffed as they got in the cab that Sherlock had hailed. The detective stared at him and they both smiled.<p>

'Lets get back home.' He replied. The doctor smiled slyly as he slinked toward his flatmate. While the detectives back was turned he quickly took out the lanky man's knees, laughing as Sherlock hit the ground.  
>'Why?' The detective asked hurt. John sniggered and helped him up.<br>'Because I don't like being treated like an idiot, even if it's part of the act, next time I'll sprain your ankle.' The soldier replied. Sherlock glared at him then tried not to hobble as he hailed a cab.

Ten minutes into the journey, John noticed that Sherlock was signing. He also knew that Sherlock knew he could sign, it was a good skill to have for a doctor.

_Don't be alarmed. Cabbie not taking us home. Not sure where. Act normal._ He faced forward again. So much for a nice easy day. As far as the doctor could tell, the cabbie hadn't noticed their mute conversation. Of course, it could just be that the cabbie didn't care. A few seconds later, Sherlock cleared his throat.

'Do you mind telling us where we're going?' He drawled.

'Course, Mr 'Olmes sir, but I'm 'fraid I can't. Don't worry, You'll find out soon enough.' The man said in the usual cockney accent. Sherlock sighed dramatically.  
>'You'd have thought we'd be more careful with cab drivers now, wouldn't you?' He said bitterly. John had to laugh.<p>

The cab pulled in to a private school. All the lights were off so it seemed that the kids were currently on their holidays. The two Baker Street lads glanced at each other and waited for the door to open. When they got out, red lasers glittered on their chests.

'Oh Shit.' John muttered.

'My sentiments exactly.' Sherlock replied in an equally quiet voice.

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><p>They were led into the main hall where they found the consulting criminal waiting for them. He smiled brightly and beckoned into the room.<p>

'Come in, Shirley dear. Bring Johnny too. I so do like having guests.' He almost sang. John couldn't control the shiver, causing the psycho to giggle again, give him Afghanistan any day of the week. Surfing on lava was better than this. _Anything_ was better than this. The two men walked in anyway, they didn't have much of a choice. Jim pulled out a few chairs then sat in on and patted the others.

'Sit, sit.' He said in a scarily friendly voice. When they did, his smile lit up brighter. 'Now then, who's been a naughty boy? Then helping the police as if nothings wrong, I don't know why I didn't think about that? Oh wait, I did!' He laughed maniacally before turning to the blond doctor. 'And you drag you pet along. I couldn't quite believe it when he shot that nasty cabbie for you but I guess you've chained him pretty tightly. He looks like he'll do anything for you. It's so sweet.' John glared at him.

'What do you want, Moriarty?' Sherlock asked, forcing himself to remain calm. The criminal laughed.

'I just wanted you to see how alike we are. And offer my services if you ever required them. I see neither of you are apt at the art of disposing a body.' He said, inspecting his fingernails and flicking imaginary lint off of his suit. John stared, just barely managing to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

'So, we can go now then.' Sherlock said, standing up. The lasers appeared again and he sat down with an annoyed sigh.

'No. You can't.' Jim growled. His voice suddenly became sweeter 'Now then, Nightmare, lets talk terms.'

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><p>John quickly found himself out of his depth. It seemed the two men were talking a completely different language. He hadn't expected his flatmate to even think about this 'talking terms' stuff since he didn't plan on killing anyone else any time soon but it seemed the detective had other ideas. An hour later, John had given up all pretences of listening to do something more interesting, liking trying to find the positions of the snipers. He was brought back into the room by the Irishman stroking his chin.<p>

'Found them all yet, Pet?' He asked.

'Uh?' _Oh well done, so much for sounding intelligent. _The doctor thought to himself.

'The snipers, silly. Have you found them all?' Jim replied. John nodded. 'Good. Now that you're with us again, we'll just fill you in on the terms.' The doctor inwardly groaned.

'Ok. 1) We have to contact Jim if we plan to kill someone or if we have accidentally killed someone. 2) He'll dispose of the body. 3) We can only work on the cases he allows us to. And 4)-' Sherlock coughed and muttered something. John raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. It was something Sherlock didn't want him to know. Meaning it was something about him. Jim giggled.

'He's smarter than I give him credit.' The psycho chuckled. 'Yes Pet, think of this as part of my payment for not killing you both. That assassin was very expensive.' John felt the tinkling in his spine. He stared at his flatmate.

'Are you going to tell me what I'm going to have to do?' He asked. Sherlock looked away.

'Shirley, you don't want to tell him? I will then.' Jim pulled the doctors chair to him. 'You have to spent two days a week with me. Two whole days.' The infamous Cheshire cat smile was firmly in place on Moriarty's face. John was surprised that the creep didn't have pointed teeth. The doctor steeled himself and glared at the psycho.

'And what makes you think that I'll agree to spending any time with you? You're a nutcase.' He growled defiantly. Jim slapped him hard.

'Be _very _careful, Johnny.' He hissed. The consulting criminal brought his hand back up to the doctors hand, sniggering as the soldier flinched, before placing it softly on the stinging flesh. 'You're too delicious to waste.' He said softly. John cast a panicked glance to his flatmate who mouthed 'sorry' at him. His shoulders sagged.

'Which days?' He asked defeatedly. Jim smiled.

'Tuesdays and Saturdays. And don't worry, you can keep your dull job at that clinic. Just let the woman know if she touches you she'll lose her hand.'


	3. Chapter 3

Life returned to normal in Baker Street. By 'normal', John and Sherlock continued their existence in the flat and still solved cases together. It was a Tuesday, one of the two days that John always dreaded. He grabbed his stuff for a the day shift at the clinic and said goodbye to Sherlock. The idiots at Scotland Yard still hadn't worked out who their murders were. John didn't know whether to be relieved at the fact or worried for the state of humanity.

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><p>Sarah smiled as John entered the room.<p>

'Doctor Watson, you're on time.' She said raising an eyebrow. The doctor shrugged slightly.

'There's a first time for everything, I suppose.' He replied. The woman twiddled the pen on the desk and chewed her lip.

'John?' She asked, he looked at her. 'Do you want to get a drink tonight?' John coughed and moved his eyes away, looking anywhere but her eyes.

'I can't.' He replied. 'Sorry.' She gazed at him thoughtfully.

'There's someone else.' She said sadly. John reddened, now he thought about it, she was right.

'I guess you could say that.' He answered. Just then, someone entered the clinic. John turned and his stomach plummeted.

'Johnny, I thought we'd agreed you'd tell her.' He whined. The solider glared at him.

'I was about to.' He growled. Sarah looked slightly shocked.

'Oh. I thought. Well. I didn't think you swung that way, John.' She said. The blond doctor was about to correct her when he was pulled in to a bone crushing hug by the Irishman.

'Oh, he'll swing anyway I want him to.' Jim said in a suggestively low voice which changed to be dramatically harsh when he spoke he next sentence. 'And if you so much as touch him, I will tear you limb from limb.' Sarah must have seen the murderous intent in his eyes because she paled and back away slightly.

'Uh, John. Your first patient is here. I think you should get ready.' Then she made a quick exit. John turned on the criminal, pushing the dark haired man off of him with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

'Why?' He asked. 'Why? My working career is now going to plummet. You should even be here in the first place. I thought we agreed you wouldn't distract me at work.' Jim sniggered, running his fingers down the soldiers arm.

'Am I distracting you, doctor.' The suggestive voice was back again.

'Yes, you bloody well are. Now go away.' Not really caring if Jim did as asked or not, John turned away. He did have work to do.

'Ok, Johnny Boy.' Moriarty called in his falsetto voice. 'I'll pick you up later. Don't be late, we've got so much to do.' The innuendo couldn't be less subtle if it was holding a large, flashing neon sign. John groaned inwardly and prayed to any deity that would listen that no one else heard that.

'Quite a strapping bloke you've got there, doctor, seems a nice sort of fellow.' Mrs Hallow-first of John's patients for the day-said with a certain glint in her eye. She had various illnesses which meant she spent two morning a week in the practise and was probably the only patient that John had actually got to know properly.

'Yes, just don't let his looks deceive you.' He replied, bringing up her medical records and getting his equipment ready.

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><p>Eight hours went by far too quickly for John's liking and he found himself preparing to leave, knowing all to well what would be waiting for him. With one final look around, he exited his room and went to reception. Jim didn't seem to be there and he looked around with slight confusion.<p>

'Can I help you?' Claire, the woman at the desk, asked.

'Yes.' John replied, 'Has a shortish man with black hair come looking for me?'

'Shortish? I'm not that short.' Jim huffed from behind him. The soldier spun round on his heels to face the Irishman. Moriarty grinned brightly and latched himself to John's arm.

'Right then, Johnny, we bet get going hmm?' He said, already dragging the soldier to the door.

* * *

><p>This was the first time that Doctor Watson had been alone with the psychopath and good God, it was scary. Jim seemed to change moods faster than John could blink. One minute he would be laughing, the next he was violently stabbing a goon who happened to walk in to the room. The doctor couldn't predict what he was going to do next, which, he had to admit, was actually kinda fun.<p>

'It's your go.' Jim drawled. John looked at the chequered battlefield. He didn't know why he agreed to play chess with the criminal because there was no way he could even hope to beat the man but it seemed to keep Jim happy and stopped him from making stupid innuendos. To prove his point, he only needed to look at the board. He had only his king and a knight left while Jim had all but two pawns still on the board. Moriarty could have ended the game at least ten times, that John had noticed, in just the one round but he seemed to be intent on teasing him and showing him how superior he really is. John huffed in annoyance and put his queen into a clearly suicidal position.

'Oh Pet, don't you want to play anymore? Shame, it was such fun. Oh well.' Jim knocked John's queen off the board with a low 'Checkmate' then stood and walked round the room. John packed the chess away, it seemed that no one else was going to do it and he loathed seeing mess.

'What shall we have for tea?' Jim asked conversationally. John glanced at him. He was very tempted to say _'I don't care' _or something similar but that would sound stroppy and he wasn't that pissed off yet.

'Uh, pasta?' He suggested. He half expected Moriarty to laugh in his face but instead the psycho seemed to actual take his suggestion into consideration.

'A tad mundane but I rather fancy pasta myself. Right, to the kitchen.' Jim said with a skip as he left the room. John stood and followed him out, even if it was to make sure the madman didn't pick up some sort of weapon.

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><p>In the psychopath's kitchen, John found himself handling a very sharp knife while stood next to the psychopath himself who was also brandishing a very sharp knife. He cut the tomato with uniformed precision and slid the chunks into the pan. Jim did the same and then cast his Cheshire smile on the doctor. The smugness rolled off of the madman in waves, each one hitting the soldier as he worked, trying his hardest to pretend he wasn't cooking with the mad bomber. With the sauce prepared, Jim weighed out the pasta while John measured the water and added salt.<p>

'This is insane.' The doctor muttered.

'What dear?' Jim replied, putting in the pasta and turning up the heat. John leant on the worktop.

'This.' He said gesturing to everything. 'This is all insane. I've gone mad. I shouldn't be enjoying time with you. You're a bloody psycho!' He shook his head, mostly at his own state of mind.

'Of course I'm a psychopath. But you live with a sociopath whom you have killed both for and with, therefore this shouldn't be that insane by your standards. What is interesting, however; is how you said _enjoying_.' Jim said through a smirk.

'No I didn't.' John replied far too quickly. Moriarty purposely reached over the doctor with the pretence of tasting the sauce. The blond doctor leapt away with a yelp then tired to cover it with a cough and quickly grabbing anything close. Jim sniggered.

'Well, the sauce is ready now so get the plates out. Bottom shelf, there's a good boy.'

* * *

><p>Dinner passed without serious incident. The conversation had started off alright, normal even, but it quickly descended into the state of Scotland Yard and how easy it was to commit crimes or infiltrate the top secret databases without the government knowing. Jim laughed as John told him of the various arguments that Sherlock and Anderson got into at crime scenes and John listened in amazement as Jim told him how he managed to get a job in the technical department for Scotland Yard. Just as the doctor finished his meal, his phone vibrated with a text.<p>

**You're needed. Case. SH**

'You're not going.' Moriarty bristled.

_Can't. Handle it yourself. JW _

**Could be dangerous. SH**

_Plenty of danger right here, thanks. JW_

Jim sniggered and played with the knife. John was instantly put a little on edge. Why did they even have knives at the table? They weren't needed to eat pasta. The psycho's phone beeped and he scowled in annoyance, fetching it out.

'Tell Sherlock that texting me won't change my mind.' He said. The soldier sighed but sent the text.

**Fine. SH**

John had to chuckle.

'You've gone and annoyed him now.' The doctor giggled, showing the text. Jim's eyes lit up in amusement. The clock chimed eleven and Jim stretched.

'Well, I'm rather tied now. Come on, up to bed.' John didn't have a choice as he was dragged up the stairs and pushed into a room.

* * *

><p>The bedroom had one large bed, a dressing table, a wardrobe and a chest of draws by the bedside. On the grand scale of things, it was actually quite bare. The doctor turned round then immediately regretted it as Jim had begun to change out of his suit.<p>

'So we're both sleeping here. In this room.' John said, heart hammering in his chest.

'Correct Johnny, now get changed. You've got pyjamas on the bed.' Moriarty replied. The doctor decided he should probably feel grateful that he was even getting pyjamas so he changed without verbal complaint. It wasn't that John had any qualms about sharing a bed with another man. He'd done it many times in Afghanistan. It wasn't that he had any problems with sharing a bed with a genius. Sherlock liked to book rooms with only one bed in hotels when they were away on cases. But all of those people, he knew, wouldn't murder him in cold blood while he slept.

'I'm not going to kill you, Johnny. If I killed you then I wouldn't have anything to keep Sherlock in check and besides, I rather enjoyed today.' Moriarty murmured with a sleepy smile. He grabbed John, with a grip that didn't seem right looking at how close to exhaustion the man was, and pulled him into the bed. John sighed, The psycho had his arms around him in an almost too tight grip._ I might as well get some sleep._ He thought as he watched the Irishman who was already snoring softly. When asleep, Jim Moriarty-Mad bomber and consulting criminal-seemed to disappear and Jim Moriarty-Human Being-took it's place. A strange sight but the same one he saw when he looked at Sherlock.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock practically pounced at the door when he heard John's footprints. He forced himself to remain still out of pure pride at not wanting John to know he cared (which he didn't!) The doctor showed that he'd had a good nights sleep. The detective didn't know whether to be happy or annoyed. If he'd had a good nights sleep then that meant he'd been able to get to sleep. John didn't have difficultly sleeping in danger, he wouldn't have survived this long if he had, but he woke from even the quietest of noises. He also would not sleep if he knew that Jim was awake meaning that he would have had to know that the psycho was asleep. Conclusion: they'd shared a bed. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, an unfamiliar fury bubbling up inside of him, but he masked his annoyance as soon as the door opened.

'Come on John.' He said, jumping up, grabbing the doctor and bundling him out of the room again. 'We've got a case to solve.' The soldier glared and stood his ground.

'No. _You've_ got a case to solve. _I've_ got to get ready for work.' Then he slipped past the detective and went to his room. Sherlock smiled, _perfect._

* * *

><p>Now that he was sure John wasn't going to disturb him, Sherlock took his mobile out and sent a quick text. He received a reply almost immediately and he took off down the street, following the riddled directions.<p>

* * *

><p>John stepped into the clinic with a sense of foreboding. He shivered once and continued to the reception.<p>

'You look well rested.' Sarah said with a suggestive smile. The soldier smiled tersely.

'Yes. So do you.' He replied, noticing that the receptionist was also staring at him but trying, and ultimately failing, to hide it. He gritted his teeth in annoyance and walked past the women. He had been in the clinic all of three minutes and he was already the centre of attention. Then again, most of them had thought he was gay for a long time now. Ever since his flatmate had 'for a case' walked up to him and French kissed him outside the practise so that a man he was tailing wouldn't notice him. How this man came to be outside his clinic, John never found out. He had spent the next week explaining that his flatmate was being a git and he wasn't gay. The amount that believed him was minuscule but the subject wasn't brought up again. The soldier heard the whispers outside his room and he could make out his name quite a few times. Something snapped and he looked down to find the pencil he had been holding had been broken in half. He placed the jagged pieces on the table and buzzed in his first patient, determined to not let the other doctors get the better of him.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in another part of London, Sherlock Holmes sat in a rather comfy chair across from the worlds only consulting detective. They were currently staring each other down. Jim chuckled and leant back on the furtinture.<p>

'So, what's the problem, Shirley?' He asked. The detective gritted his teeth at the nickname.

'John.' He replied bluntly. He didn't think it was possible for th psycho's smile to grow anymore but the madman somehow managed it.

'Ah, Johnny. He's quite a lot of fun, I see why you like him. Not very good at chess though.' Jim's conversational tone was frankly disturbing. Sherlock's hands were now firmly clenching the arms of his chair to the point where is knuckles were completely white.

'John is mine.' He growled in an almost animalistic way. Moriarty laughed,

'My, my, Shirley dear, could it be that you've become possessive? What a very… psychopathic thing to do.' The Irishman cooed.

'I'm not a psychopath, I'm a sociopath.' Sherlock snapped back, quick to defend his mental defect.

'So what do you want?' Jim asked. That stumped the lanky detective, he hadn't actually thought he'd get this far without a fight and perhaps gunfire.

'I don't want you sleeping with John.' He replied coldly. 'I don't want John sleeping in your bed. I don't want john sleeping anywhere near you. Ever.' The criminal raised an eyebrow. The room fell into silence again. Sherlock's eyes were boring into the black pits that were Moriarty's eyes and the abyss he found there seemed to threaten to envelope him. The criminal had no soul to stare into, just the bottomless pit of emptiness.

'So you, with nothing to offer me, want me to stopping sleeping with your flatmate. Even if he allowed me to do so.' Jim stated. Sherlock nodded. 'If I do this then we'll keep it as you owing me one. In fact, you'll owe me a lot more than one. I hope you know that I could pull you up on this at any time.' The Irish voice said slyly. The detective new that by agreeing to this he would make his life hell but it didn't matter, he didn't want his doctor being anywhere near the sly git especially when he was asleep.

'Fine.' He spat. Jim blinked.

'Well, I hadn't expected you to actually say yes.' He said in a slightly shocked manner before smiling again. 'Good doing business with you, Shirley.' He winked and looked at his watch.

'I think you best go now. John will be finishing soon.' Sherlock was getting sick of everyone's suggestive tones. Especially where John was concerned. It wasn't right. He decided that he was going to pick John up from work today, damn the consequences.

* * *

><p>John looked at the screen which showed his last patient for the day. They were just waiting for him to arrive then John could get it over with and get home. It had been a long, tedious day and the soldier wasn't quite sure that his patience was going to stand up to much more straining. He was thankful that he hadn't needed to go out of his room otherwise he may not have been able to stop himself from blowing his top at some unfortunate nurse who happened to ask him a stupid question at the wrong time. A little box flashed up on the screen telling him that his last patient had finally arrived. He buzzed him in straight away, eager to leave. The man was a long time sufferer of chest pains. He'd ran out of medication and the clinic had decided he should come in for another check up. Why, John couldn't understand, the man looked fine and was clearly quite actively fit but he decided it was probably better to be safe than sorry, as the saying goes.<p>

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, the soldier walked into the reception. Claire gave him a knowing smile and he could have slapped her. If one more person gave him a suggestive glance, he was going to punch them. Just then, who should fly in but the consulting detective. Sherlock ran and grabbed John.<p>

'Thank God you're ok.' He said breathlessly before dragging his flatmate out of the clinic, leaving Claire to wonder what the hell had just happened. When they were outside, John slapped Sherlock's hand away.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' The doctor hissed. The detective looked at him.

'I was getting you out of there before that psycho got you again.' He replied, voice twisting slightly. John looked at him.

'It's not Jim's day, why would he be here?' He asked but Sherlock wasn't going to give him any more information and instead grabbed him again, pushing him into the nearest cab.

'Sherlock, what the hell?' John snapped.

'Moriarty. He. I. Sorry John.' The detective said getting increasing flustered, a state that John had never seen him in before. The doctor knew his flatmate had done something but what?

'Sherlock.' He said slowly. 'What did you do?' The man in question took a steadying breath.

'I stopped Jim from sleeping with you in return for favours.' He said. John nodded, he couldn't really be upset about not having to be completely vulnerable while next to a psychopath.

'What favours?' The soldier asked.

'I don't know.' At this, John turned to look at his flatmate. Sherlock hated having to do favours for people. Silence filled the cab for the rest of the journey.

* * *

><p>The two men stood outside the door to 221b Baker Street. John was bout to put the key in the lock when his flatmate pulled him back.<p>

'It's open.' Sherlock whispered, pushing the door to prove his point.

'But it's never left open.' The doctor argued, even though it clearly was.

'I know. Moriarty's here.' The detective replied, still in a low voice. The soldier felt the chill and allowed him to enter first. As fun as his last trip to Satan's lair had been, he wasn't ready to see the evil mastermind again so soon.


	5. Chapter 5

'Shirley! I'd wondered when you'd get back.' Jim sat in John's chair with the ever-present wild smile etched onto his face. Sherlock moved onto his sofa and spread out on it, pointedly ignoring the consulting criminal. Anger flashed across Moriarty's face. He stood up and gestured for John to take his seat. The doctor's face was the picture of shock but he sat in his armchair, only to have the psycho run his fingers through his soft blond hair.

'Is it really wise to ignore me, Shirley? I could always take what I want from Johnny instead.' Sherlock sat up immediately.

'Get on with it then.' He growled. Moriarty giggled and perched on the arm of John's chair, still tousling the soldier hair in much the same way he would a cat.

'Normally I would get my assassin on this but, thanks to you, he's been terminated so I think it's only fitting you take his place.' Jim said in a light hearted manner. Sherlock and John gave each other an apprehensive glance.

'Who?' The detective asked, steepling his fingers. The psycho pulled a memory card out of his jacket.

'No one that you know. Just someone who tried to double cross me.' Moriarty's voice took a hard edge and it took all of the doctors self control not to laugh. Someone had got the better of Moriarty. True, they were now on a death list but someone had managed to get one over on the consulting criminal.

'You may think it's funny, Johnny. But you'll be staying with me until Shirley here gets the target. Think of it as an incentive to get it done.' Jim smirked as Sherlock grabbed John's computer and put the memory card in the slot. The information came up immediately and Sherlock quickly became engrossed.

'I hope that doesn't do kill my computer.' John huffed, wondering if telling the mastermind to let go of his hair would only make matters worse. Jim chuckled and gave a sharp tug, letting the doctor know the answer.

'Well you'd better get going, Shirley. Don't want to miss that time window.' Moriarty cooed. The detective glared at him but stood, straightening his coat and scarf before holding a hand out to John who gave a puzzled glance. Sherlock sighed.

'Your gun, John. I'll need your gun.' John's mouth made an 'O' shape and he shifted so he could reach the gun out of its holster, passing it to Sherlock. When it was in the other man's hand, John stopped, still holding on to it.

'What happened to yours?' He asked with narrowing eyes.

'Out of ammunition, now if you don't mind I really must get going.' Sherlock snapped irritably, snatching the gun away and moving quickly towards the door.

* * *

><p>Moriarty watched him go with a playful glint in his eyes then turned back to John.<p>

'Well, we've got at least a few hours to kill.' He muttered, standing up and taking in his surroundings. John shivered. It was one think being in the criminals house with him but it was entirely another to have the man in his own home, he should be safe in his own home. Deciding that he wouldn't be going out until Sherlock returned, John took off his woollen jumper and hung it up on a peg he had put in shortly after moving in. The wall had taken a battering, it was going to need strengthening when they had the cash spare.

'You shouldn't worry so much,' The criminal chided. 'It doesn't suit you.' Then he went back to searching the flat.

'You probably know where everything is anyway, the amount that you spy on us, so I don't see why you need to search the place.' The soldier mumbled.

'Hmmm, but this is the first time I've been in here properly. There are some thing's I just have to see for myself. Does he really keep a head in the fridge?' Jim asked, making his way to the kitchen. John stared at the door he had just passed through in bewilderment. Only Jim Moriarty would- a knock at the door brought him out of his mind and into reality.

The doctor stood up with a huff and opened the door to find Lestrade in front of a group.

'Where's Sherlock?' He asked, pushing past and entering the flat.

'I don't know.' John replied in annoyance. A large group of officers walked in behind him and started the usual drugs bust routine.

'What do you mean _you don't know_?' Sergeant Donavan asked snidely. 'You're his faithful puppy. Now where is he?' John saw red and clenched his fists but a slim hand slipped round his waist, stopping him completely.

'Johnny dear, I know you said Sherlock helped at the Yard but I didn't think they'd be breaking in. Isn't it counted as trespassing? I mean they don't have a valid reason. He's not even here. I hope they don't stay too long, this is suposed to be our night in.' Jim said silkily, just loud enough for the now very embarrassed Donavan to hear.

'No. In fact, they were just leaving.' John replied pointedly. The DI looked oddly at him as he walked quickly to the door.

'When you see him, I want a word.' He said, trying to hold the moral high ground and failing miserably. John nodded, his jaw set firm. 'Um sorry about… This, I'll call you next time.' Lestrade said as he walked out. The door slammed closed but not before Donavan shot a despising glance towards him.

* * *

><p>Across London, Sherlock crept through the darkened alleyway. His target was a snivelling little man with no sense of the word kind. Everything he did was for his own gain but he was stupid and inescapably dull. The detective brought out both guns, he'd only <em>said<em> he didn't have any bullets. The quicker he got this done the quicker he could get back to the flat and the quicker Moriarty would piss off. He put the silencers round both guns and waited. This man liked to go into alleyways for short cuts and the alleyway that Sherlock was currently in, hiding just out of sight near the entrance, was the one he used most. He was walking quickly so he was in a rush to get home, this one cut out about ten minutes of his journey. The detective was sure he'd chose it. And he was right. The man passed by him, and Sherlock took aim. He fired John's gun first, at such a distance it was almost impossible to miss. The man fell to the ground, already dead. Sherlock then shot him in the head with his gun and fished both bullets out, looking away while he did so. He then walked out of the alleyway, leaving the body to be found be someone else who would raise the alarm. What would John think of him now? The last time, that man was going to kill him, it was self defence but this time. Well, as the psycho had said, he didn't even know this man. Sure he was a criminal but did that mean that he was going to kill every criminal he came across? Who was he to decide? John would understand. John had been through all of this. The detective walked the first seven and a half minutes at a leisurely pace then sprinted the rest of the way home.

* * *

><p>'Why did you stop me?' John asked. Jim chuckled and played with the large knife he had found and somehow hidden from view when the Yard officers had arrived.<p>

'You getting arrested for assault wouldn't bode well for my plans and besides, I like screwing with the force. It keeps them on their proverbial toes, makes them easier to push over.' Jim replied. The doctor laughed purely from the sincerity in the criminals voice.

'Tea?' He asked conversationally. Moriarty slinked up to him.

'Hmm… Nah, I'll pass. You're breaths sweet enough without it.' He said in the low voice. John suddenly felt very crowded.

'Bu-wh… What?' He stuttered. Jim smiled showing his brilliant white teeth and placed a hand on the doctor, pushing him slightly. John took a step back to find the sofa in his way and he toppled over backwards into the cushions. The criminals walked round and sat on the edge of the furniture, stopping the soldier as he tried to escape.

'I promised Shirley I wouldn't sleep with you and you wouldn't sleep in my bed. Well, we're not sleeping and we're not even in a bed. Problem solved.' The psycho said with a grin. John gulped and tried to push himself back into the cushions, putting as much space between him and this madman as humanly possible. Jim sniggered and pulled out the knife he'd been playing with.

'I hope you're not emotionally attached to that shirt.' Moriarty said idly as he flicked the blade under the fabric and brought his hand upward, slicing the material easily. John shivered, partly from the chilling air but mostly because a mad psycho was currently cutting his shirt away from his body using a very large, very sharp knife. Jim chuckled and made the blade dance against the doctors flesh, nicking the skin every so often but not drawing blood.

'You're still wearing too many clothes.' He said slyly, bringing the knife down to the waist band of John's jeans.

'No.' The soldier stated, moving his hands down to hold the knife firmly. 'Absolutely not. These are my only good jeans.' Jim dug the knife into the blonds hand, causing him to yelp but he didn't let go, red blood welled up and trailed down the blade.

'Take them off and I won't cut them.' Moriarty offered. John glared at him then looked down at his dwindling clothing. He'd banned Sherlock from buying him new clothes and he didn't have any money spare so losing the jeans would be stupid. But, in taking them off, he lose his pride. _Pride? Ha! What pride? _His mind called. The soldier gritted his teeth.

'Let me up then.' He huffed. The psychopath had gone back to trailing the knife across his skin.

'You can take them off lying down.' Jim answered. 'But be careful, we won't want you to get another cut.' On the word cut, he jabbed the blade down sharply leaving a shallow cut on the doctors chest. John hissed in pain and shot a murderous look at Moriarty but became shimmying out off his jeans anyway, being careful not to make any sudden movements.


	6. Chapter 6

It was just gone five in the morning when Sherlock stepped into the flat. He turned to the living room and gaped. John was currently lying, almost naked, with closed eyes and his hands behind his head while Moriarty ran the blade of a knife over his skin. The soldier muscles rippled and retracted every time the metal came in contact with them but the doctor himself remained perfectly still. The detective could see a multitude of cuts, some bleeding others not, littered across his flatmates flesh. He walked into the middle of the room with fury bubbling up inside of him.

'Shirley!' Jim said with a smile, not bothering to turn round. 'I see you were successful then.' John kept his eyes closed and Sherlock realised that he'd been told to keep them that way.

'Yes. Now get out.' He replied harshly. Moriarty stopped, pressing the blade against the doctors skin and making the man suck in a breath.

'What?' He asked, holding the blade firm.

'I did what you wanted now please leave.' Sherlock said, keeping is voice low and level. Jim chuckled, relieving the pressure on the weapon.

'That's better. See how much easier thinks can be when you're just that little bit nicer?' He cooed before turning back to John. 'You can open your eyes now, Pet.' John eyes flew open almost immediately and he flicked them to look at Sherlock. Moriarty watched them both for a few moments then stood up.

'I'll pick you up Saturday morning then, Johnny.' He sighed as he place then knife on the coffee table. 'Make sure you're ready.' He called as he walked outside.

Sherlock waited for the door the close then he turned back to his flatmate,

'Stay there.' He said, pointing to the sofa, as he ran into the kitchen and started running the tap. John sat up, wincing as the skin moved causing the deeper cuts to bleed again. A few minutes later, his flatmate returned with a bowl of warm water and a flannel.

'Thanks.' John gasped as he moved forward to pick up the cloth but it was taken by the detective who gently pushed him upright again.

'Don't it yourself will only make it worse. Stay still and I'll do it.' Sherlock said, dipping the flannel into the water. John hissed, more out of annoyance than pain, and tried stand but wobbled and fell back again. The detective gave him an odd look then cast his eyes to the floor were the doctors feet had been to find patches of red stains. He carefully lifted John's legs and looked at the deep cuts which travelled from the ball of his big toe to his heel on both feet. He flicked his eyes back up to his flatmate.

'You know what you prescribed me when this happened to me.' He said curtly. John scowled, he remembered all to well.

'_Sherlock, What the hell are you doing? You can't walk with you feet like that! They need to be bandaged and then you are to stay in bed until they're healed.' _He had said in a firm doctoring voice before confining his flatmate to his bed and taking a day of work to make sure he stayed there.

'Don't you have a case to solve or something?' John asked curtly. The detective turned away, standing up and going to the cupboard where the bandages were kept.

'Nope.' He said while rooting for the first aid kit. The detectives phone rang and he answered it.

'Yes Lestrade… Oh, I can't, I'm looking after John… Yeh, he's really quite ill. I'm sure you can deal with whatever problem it is yourselves. Bye.' Then he put the phone down again and turned to smirk at the doctors shell-shocked expression.

'You-you.. Y-you.' John stumbled. The detective sighed and fished the bandages out of the first aid kit.

'Yes, I know. It's amazing. The consulting detective has just turned down work. But this is much more fun.' For a flicker of a second, the Cheshire cat smile flashed across his face causing John to shiver, hoping his mind was just playing tricks on him.

* * *

><p>Jim scowled as he watched the screen of his laptop. Sherlock never turned down a case. He'd even made sure it was a good case, bloody murder, no weapon, no suspects. Supposedly the perfect crime. Everything that the detective liked in a homicide case and he had turned it down so he could confine John to the sofa. It wasn't fair. If he had tried to confine the good doctor to anything then he'd have had the weight of the entire British Government baring down on him in seconds. Why was Sherlock allowed when he wasn't? A flicker of a smile danced on his lips as the cogs in his mind began formulating their plans. He chuckled deeply and quickly clicked the keys on his phone, anxious to get his plan up and running.<p>

* * *

><p>John lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. It had been six hours since Sherlock had walked in and strapped him to the gunnery. He was a soldier, for Christ's sake, he'd been through things a hundred times worse than this and come out laughing. He currently had his hands stretched over his head and his bandaged feet resting against the arm at one end of the sofa. Sherlock huffed and sat in John's armchair.<p>

'If this is your retaliation for me being the doctor then I can tell you that it only causes a minor inconvenience to me.' The detective called wearily. The doctor glared at him

'I have know idea what you're talking about.' He replied curtly. Sherlock chuckled and leant back, relaxing into the cushions.

'Of course, so you're not stretching out as much as possible on the sofa you see as mine so that I can't sit on it, thereby giving you some sort of payback in your eyes?' He asked. His flatmate scowled but said nothing. Sherlock's smile grew brighter as he one another argument.

* * *

><p>Downstairs, Mrs Hudson's kettle whistled loudly, reminding the soldier that he hadn't had his tea fix for at least twenty hours.<p>

'Put the kettle on.' The doctor snapped.

'No.' The detective replied, picking up the paper that Mrs Hudson had brought in that morning. John was on his feet in seconds.

'Fine, I'll do it myself.' He spat. He hadn't taken a step before he was lifted up and put back on the sofa, too shocked to really fight back.

'No. You're not allowed on your feet.' The detective stated.

'Bu-yu-B- Sherlock! Personal boundaries!' John screeched, finally getting his mouth to work.

'You were told to stay off your feet. If you can order me to do that then it's only right that I do the same thing to you. It's for your own good.' Sherlock said in his 'I'm a genius and you're an amoeba, don't waste my time by arguing with me' voice.

'Then get me a damn cup of tea.' John growled. The door opened and James Moriarty poked his head round it.

'Get out.' Sherlock all but yelled, pointing straight through the criminal to the world outside. Jim smiled and brought his hand round to show a tray of steaming mugs.

'Your lovely landlady let me in and I asked to borrow her kettle. Shirley can be so mean sometimes.' The criminal said in his falsetto voice. John would have argued but he was tried, annoyed and he just wanted a cup of tea.

'Tea. Here. Now.' He commanded. Sherlock's jaw dropped as he stared at his flatmate in disbelief. Jim slipped past him and made his way over to the blond, swaying his hips lightly as he walked. The detective made a sort of strangled noise and John glared at him.

'Well you certainly weren't going to put the kettle on.' He snapped, taking the cup from Jim who sat on the sofa beside him with a brightly possessive smile on his face. John took a gulp of the scolding liquid, ignoring the warnings of it being hot from both geniuses. His mouth burned but he didn't care. Tea was worth it. Moriarty wrapped an arm round his waist and John raised an eyebrow at the man but didn't make any move to shrug it away. Sherlock stood rigidly glaring at the consulting criminal. John tried to ignore the two geniuses and concentrate on something else, like his tea, but after thirty seconds, he'd had enough. The tea was placed carefully out of harms way.

'Seriously? The two most intelligent people I know are currently acting like two alpha dogs put in a cage together. It's childish and it's distracting and you two should know better.' He growled, casting his glare on both men. Sherlock looked slightly sheepish for a moment before shrugging it off and walking away but Jim's wild smile laced his lips and he pushed himself against the blond doctor.

'But you like me childish. It makes you think you have some kind of control.' The Irishman murmured. John stared at him, he hadn't thought of it like that but he guessed it was true. The thought of power was a scary thing. It keeps people on your side because they think they have something to bargain with, something to fall back on. When in fact, you have everything and they're just standing on the ground you've loaned them.

'Aw, Don't be upset Johnny. You're not the only one.' Jim cooed, running his fingers through the doctors hair.


	7. Chapter 7

After a week, John had settled into a comfortable, if slightly strange, routine. What receptionists who worked for the clinic found was that Tuesdays and Saturdays were the days John had off work, no questions, even if half the doctors were ill or an epidemic of the flu virus threatened to sweep the clinic off it's feet. John was off limits, he sounded extremely apologetic on the phone when they called him, almost like he was being forced to say what he did by some other unknown person but the receptionist shrugged it off. It was a ludicrous idea, after all. The soldier inwardly smiled at the odd looks he received from the other doctors. They all knew something strange was going on but none of them had the guts to ask him, which was just as well because there was no way on this earth that he was going to tell them.

* * *

><p>Since Sherlock had had his little chat with the consulting criminal, John hadn't slept at Moriarty's house. Not properly. He had dosed off a few times while watching the crime shows that the Irishman seemed to enjoy, one of which they were in the process of watching, but he hadn't properly slept all night and hadn't even been in Jims room. Which was slightly surprising because he had expected the criminal to go back on his word the moment he was able to. Jim was relatively honest with him, kept his word and tried to keep John in the loop-where his wellbeing was a concern, anyway-which was more than most criminals would do, hell, it was more than most politicians would do. John chuckled, Mycroft Holmes was going to flip when he found out about this. The doctor's blood turned to ice in his veins. <em>Shit. <em>He thought. _Mycroft Holmes is going to kill me when he finds out. _

'Cheers.' An Irish voice huffed next to him. John turned to the criminal as if to ask 'What?'

'So you're not even remotely scared of me, the worlds most wanted criminal, but you're scared of your flatmates fat brother?' Jim asked, sounding more than slightly put out.

'I'm not scared of him.' John defended. Moriarty huffed a laugh.

'Pur-lease. You physically shiver at the thought of him. You're hair stands on end and you pulse elevates slightly. Either you're scared of him or you're attracted to him-' John choked and the criminal smiled. '-exactly my point. You're reaction just now proves that you're not attracted to him, and I'd be slightly worried if you were, therefore you're scared of him. Tell me why.' The last sentence was said in a commanding tone. John was about to hold his tongue but he really wasn't in the mood to get his feet cut open again. Sherlock had only just gotten over that.

'Well, he kidnapped me when I first met Sherlock, he keeps kidnapping me, he seems to know everything. I don't know, there's just something about him that puts me on edge.' John answered truthfully. Jim pushed him down on his back and loomed over him.

'So why aren't I scary?' He asked making his fingers walk up John's chest.

'You are scary.' The doctor replied. 'But I can kinda predict your movements and I know you've got ulterior motives for not torturing me til I cry out for death. With Mycroft Holmes, I can't be sure.' Moriarty sniffed but pulled away, allowing John to get up. The TV was switched off and John found himself hooded.

'Oh, come on.' He groaned as he was marched upstairs.

* * *

><p>Once upstairs and in the bedroom, John stopped allowing himself to be pushed and stood with his arms folded across his chest.<p>

'Is there seriously any need for me to be hooded?' He asked in annoyed tones. 'I know exactly where I am so it was kinda pointless really.' Jim chuckled and pushed him back til his legs hit the bed and he collapsed onto the mattress. John moved his arms to take the bag off but firm hands kept the hood on his head.

'Try taking it off and I will tie it round your neck so you can't breath and watch as you slowly lose consciousness.' Moriarty growled, moving his hands to grab the doctors wrists and place them on the bed.

'Oh Johnny,' He said, his voice suddenly sweet again. 'Your struggling says no but your racing pulse says yes.' The suggestive voice whispered. John shivered and remained still.

'Jim.' He warned. The criminal chuckled.

'Shirley worries about you. Should I send him a text? Perhaps I'll add a picture, I'm sure he'd love to see you this way.' The criminal continued, ignoring John's warning completely. The soldier heard the subtle click of a camera then growled and tried to sit up, he had a general idea where the psycho was and he figured he had at least a few seconds to get his hands round the condescending little creeps neck before he was shot down by someone. Sadly, Moriarty had anticipated the attack and dodged, throwing the doctor to the floor, sitting on his back and gasping each hand to hold them to the floor, effectively pinning him to the ground. John hissed and squirmed but he couldn't escape and he eventually gave up, panting heavily.

'Come on Jim.' He whined painfully. 'Let me go.' The criminal chuckled darkly and flipped the doctor so he was on his back with his hands being held to his chest and the Irishman sat on his stomach.

'I thought you knew that good pets get treats and bad pets get punished.' Jim said calmly. Then he chuckled again as he felt the blonds heart rate sky rocket. 'Like that, do you? Somebody's got a helpless captive kink.' He sniggered, wrapping heavy duty rope round Johns wrists and tightening it. The doctor was in two minds about just telling Moriarty to get on with it. Of course, the criminal already knew that and that was why he was being teased. John gritted his teeth, if Jim wanted to play then he was game. And he wasn't going to give up easily either. With military precision, the soldier sat up at the same time as lifting his hands up, sliding the hood off, then putting them over the man sat on his lap, stopping him from being able to escape. Moriarty hadn't expected that and wide eyed shock flashed across his face briefly. Now it was John's turn to chuckle as he nibbled on Jims neck, making the man whimper.

'You underestimate me, Moriarty.' He growled. 'I was in the army. Did you forget what happened a few weeks ago? I did kill, dig the bullets out of the body then carried the body to the river, in case you'd forgotten. I'm not as nice as I look.' The Irishman chuckled to himself with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

'You did, didn't you? But you did it for Sherlock. How I wish I had a pet like you.' He said then paused for a second. 'No, scrap the last bit. I don't want a pet _like _you. I want you. Give me what you would give Sherlock, if he'd ever ask. Which he won't, by the way. It's funny really, the way he's so possessive over his heart yet he won't take what's his. It's good for me though.' Jim pressed himself close to John, rendering the soldiers plan of being scaring and capturing the other man useless.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was at the crime scene of the man he had killed for Moriarty. This was becoming some what of a regular occurrence and the detective wasn't quite sure he liked it. Not only was the criminal stealing <em>his<em> John, he was also forcing him into the rather uncomfortable label of 'Hitman'. The homeless network seemed to know of his current predicament and they helped him as much as possible, giving the idiots at Scotland Yard completely false witness reports. Sometimes it paid to be nice to those less fortunate. Sherlock reminded himself that he would have to make sure to stay on their collective good side.

'I don't understand this.' Greg Lestrade sighed. 'The same guns and shot in the same place. We even found the horse thing stuffed into his pocket but this man had nothing in common with the other. The first victim was a known assassin, we had just been waiting to find him but this man was just a petty criminal. I doesn't make any sense.' The DI groaned to Sherlock. The detective stared at him.

'I really don't know why you pull me out for this. It's stupidly dull. Clearly there is a man carrying to guns and thinking that he's doing the world a favour by killing off criminals. This is why I don't have emotions.' He replied curtly, fixing his coat. DI Lestrade cast a slightly concerned glance over the detective.

'Is something troubling you?' He asked, moving back slightly in the very likely case that the taller man exploded at him. Sherlock remained uncharacteristically silent for many moments before muttering 'Nothing' and walking off.

Greg watched the man stride away quickly then finished up at the crime scene, he wasn't going to learn anything else from it, and got back to the office. Something was definitely off and the DI wasn't above using the small amount of power he owned to make sure the detective was safe. Even if it meant breaking into his flat again. After all, the last time he let the detective go off by himself and gave him the benefit of the doubt, the doctor got kidnapped and strapped to a bomb and they both ended up in a room with that 'consulting criminal' or whatever silly name he gave himself. There was still a file in the office marked 'Moriarty' and it was the most sorry looking thing that the DI had ever seen. All they had was the report from the crime scene. Both Sherlock and John had refused to give any proper statement and they actually had nothing on the elusive James Moriarty. It was as if he didn't exist. Greg chuckled dryly to himself, he guessed that was probably the reason that this Moriarty was so good at his job. DI Lestrade reached his office and began making the arrangements, he could be at 221b before the day was through.


	8. Chapter 8

When Sherlock returned to the flat, he realised that he had visitors. He opened the door and walked up to find his flatmate playing tonsil tennis with the consulting criminal. He waited for a few moments before coughing politely. Neither man seemed to hear , though he knew for a fact that Moriarty had, so he coughed again then lost his patience.

'John!' He snapped. The doctor looked up abruptly, the blush clearly evident.

'Sherlock. I didn't think you'd be back yet.' He stuttered, trying to clear the mist in his brain. The detective barked out a laugh.

'Clearly.' He hissed, making his way into the kitchen. John turned to the Irishman.

'You git.' He whispered. 'You knew he was there the whole time.' Jim shrugged.

'I can't help it if you're just so oblivious to everything. He wasn't particularly quiet.' The criminal replied, smiling innocently. The detective appeared from out of the kitchen and looked in the way of the two men with something akin to disgust.

'You can leave now.' He growled in the general direction of the psychopath. Moriarty checked his watch dramatically.

'Nope, I believe John is still mine for another… ooh, about two hours and seventeen minutes.' Jim answered, pulling the doctor closer. John pushed away and sighed as he looked at the man-children he had to deal with.

'I'm not a toy, you know, neither of you own me.' He stated. Both of the geniuses gave him the same condescending look, effectively pinning the soldier to the sofa.

'Oh, Johnny, of course you belong to us.' Moriarty cooed patronisingly. John glared at him. 'Don't worry about it darling. If it makes you feel better, just think of yourself as the thing that is keeping me and Sherlock from killing each other and causing general mass hysteria.' The criminal explained. The doctor sighed and scooted closer to the Irishman. Sherlock's expression took on a death glare and John groaned.

'Oh for the love of… Look, if it really bothers you this much, we can go to my room. Out of your way. Then you can do whatever it is you usually do when you're waiting for me to come home.' John said in an annoyed voice. Sherlock blushed and looked away while Jim giggled.

'If you want him to do what he does while waiting for you to come home then we can't go into your room.' The consulting criminal sniggered. The doctor paled slightly.

'What?' He asked, whipping his head round to his flatmate. 'What is he talking about, Sherlock?' Sherlock's face reddened slightly more as he tried to hold the soldiers gaze. When the detective didn't reply, Moriarty decided this was an invitation.

'He goes into your room, goes through your stuff until he finds your most recently worn jumper then he get's into your bed- pulls the covers around him and-'

'Whoa, stop right there.' John said, pressing a finger to Jims mouth to shut him up. 'I've decided I don't want to know.' He removed his finger from Moriarty's lips and the man smiled slyly.

'I've got video footage, just in case you want to know.' He whispered with a wink.

'I'm going to my room.' Sherlock stated, moving away. 'You two can do whatever but please try to keep the noise down. I have work.' He was gone before either man could say anything about it.

'Someone's not happy.' Jim sniggered. John gave him a sharp look but it didn't have any affect on the psycho. Moriarty pulled the doctor back up to him and pressing their lips together messily. The doctor fought for a moment then sank into the kiss, returning the pressure.

* * *

><p>Somehow, John had ended up pressed against the arm of the sofa with his hands gripping tightly to the Irishman's dark hair. Moriarty half lay on top of him, with on hand rest on his hip and one hand shoved as far up his shirt as it could possibly go without ripping the clothing itself. From his room, Sherlock heard the familiar rumble of DI's police car. Followed by another police car. <em>Gits<em>. He thought. _They think they can just barge into my flat whenever I don't do something they- Oh… Crap._ The detective darted out of the room, swinging on the doorframe so to lose as little momentum as possible.

'Anyone of tea?' Sherlock asked loudly. This time he didn't break either man out of the kiss. The detective sighed an went into the kitchen. Well he did try to warn his flatmate but if the man was more intent on snogging that psychopath- Something stirred in Sherlock's gut and he gripped the worktop to steady himself. _Jealousy._ He realised. He'd never felt that before. The kettle whistled loudly, masking the sound of pounding feet on the stairs. Sherlock placed the tea's on a tray and carried them into the room. He knew exactly how John took his tea and he had a very good idea of the criminals preferences. Just as he was about to put the tray down on the coffee table, the door burst open and five officers bustled in, followed by the DI. John broke away from Jim in shock and froze when he saw the Detective inspector and the police force.

Everyone remained still for a moment while they took in what was happening. The DI couldn't quite believe what his eyes were seeing. The doctor was snogging a bloke. That in it's self wasn't that unbelievable as there was a running pool in the Yard on whether he and the detective were an item. But the doctor was snogging a dark haired, slim, very similar to the description the two had given of Moriarty.

'Crap.' John said, finally able to move his mouth again. Jim sniggered and glanced at his watch.

'I didn't realise Shirley would be having more visitors.' He said, not even bothering to hide the lie. The criminal pulled in the soldier for a peck on the nose then he stood up. 'Well you should be mine for another nineteen minutes but I'm sure we'll just have to leave it as you owing me, Johnny-Boy.' He giggled and winked then walked with a sway of his hips. Now his back was turned on the doctor he eyed the detective and slunk round him, whispering 'I win again.' as he past the taller male. Sherlock grit his teeth but didn't reply. Jim chuckled and went to leave, nodding his head to Lestrade.

'Inspector.' He muttered before practically running down the stairs, still chuckling to himself.

The DI was still in awe. He didn't quite know what had just happened.

'Who was that?' He asked. John was about to reply when he realised who it actually was and he closed his mouth again. Sherlock smirked.

'That was Jim.' He answered for his flatmate. Anderson sneered from some unknown dark corner of the room.

'Jim who? What did he mean about John being his? Did Sherlock bet something which can't be bought?' He asked with the hint of a snigger. The DI shot him a glance but didn't reprimand him. After all, Greg would have asked the same questions, if with a little more tact.

'Jim none-of-your-business.' John snapped, standing up. 'I didn't realise that there's a law saying I have to explain myself to you. What are you even doing here? Sherlock hasn't been using, he doesn't even keep drugs anymore.' The soldier spat. Greg Lestrade put his hands up in surrender.

'Ok, ok. Sherlock was acting strange at the crime scene. I thought something was off so I came here. Just to make sure.' He said. Then he decided to try a different tactic. 'I didn't think Irish was your kinda thing, John. Dark haired too. Say, that reminds me, have either of you had any more thought on this Moriarty character? We can't find anything on him.' The DI said, trying to keep the professional tone in his voice. John seemed to pale slightly.

'No, we haven't.' Sherlock replied. 'Now leave.' Lestrade bowed his head and called the police into retreat.

* * *

><p>Once the police had gone and the cars had pulled away. John flopped down on the sofa.<p>

'He knows. Shit, he knows.' The doctor sighed, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. Sherlock waited a moment then pounced on the doctor, pulling him in for a bone crushing hug. He wrinkled his nose and pulled away again.

'Go have a shower, change clothes and burn the ones you're wearing.' The detective commanded. John raised an eyebrow. 'You smell like him. I can't stand it.' Sherlock elaborated. The soldier chuckled to himself and went up to his room. He knew he shouldn't but he was rather enjoying being fought over by the two smartest people he knew. It was a laugh to see how childish the two men could be. John knew that he was playing with fire. What happened when the fighting got past the snide remarks and playing tug of war stage? Someone, most likely John, was going to end up getting hurt. Badly. The shower was scolding hot and it washed away all traces of the psycho. The solder picked out some new clothes and shoved what he had been wearing in the wash basket. Then he made his way back downstairs, towelling his hair dry.

* * *

><p>When he got downstairs, he was pounced on again. This time, the detective forced a cup of tea in his hands.<p>

'Drink this.' He ordered. John sniggered.

'I don't see why I have to rinse my mouth as well. It's not like you'll be needing it.' He grumbled half-heartedly, still with the smile on his face as he took a sip. His flatmate looked away. John put the empty cup down on the table and wrapped his arms round Sherlock.

'You really are jealous, aren't you?' The doctor asked.

'No. Of course not. I- I. Well.' Sherlock faltered and John smiled. 'Yes. Yes I am.' He said, looking away. The doctor let him go but the detective grabbed him and pulled them together again.

'No. You are mine. Mine, not his.' Sherlock growled, suddenly possessive. John gulped and pushed the man away gently. The taller male grabbed his wrist and pulled up the sleeves of the man's jumper to see the red welts. The detective froze, clinging tightly to the soldiers arms.


	9. Chapter 9

'What happened?' Sherlock asked. John looked away and his flatmate shook him til he looked back again. 'Tell me.'

'He likes to be rough. You should know that by now. It's fine. I've had worse.' John replied, yanking his arms away. Sherlock gritted his teeth.

'Take of your jumper.' He commanded authoritively.

'No.' The soldier replied, standing his ground.

'I will take it off for you if you don't.' The detective warned. John took a step back and held his jumper down.

'Sherlock, leave it alone.' The doctor said. Sherlock turned round and walked into the kitchen. John waited for a moment then sighed in relief and moved to find his laptop. When he passed in front of the kitchen, something grabbed him and forced his jumper over his head. John turned round with the intent to punch his flatmate when he felt soft fingertips stroking along the red marks on his neck, the reason that John had worn turtle neck jumpers was so that his flatmate-and everyone else-didn't notice the marks on his skin. His shirt hid the rest from his flatmate, something he was thankful for but he knew it wouldn't last long.

'That git. I will tear him to shreds.' Sherlock growled. John grabbed the taller males hand.

'No, you won't. Remember why we're in this. The law won't look down kindly on either of us right now. Moriarty is the only thing between us and prison.' The doctor replied, being the voice a reason was a weird twist of fate and would have made him giggle in any other circumstances. Sherlock sighed.

'I'm sorry. I got us into this mess.' He whispered. John shook his head.

'No you didn't. I-' The doctor's phone pinged and cut off whatever he'd been about to say. John fished the phone out of his pocket and opened up the message.

_Hey babe, sorry to break up the tender moment but I got a job for you two. M xXx_

John sighed.

**What do you want? JW**

He didn't have to wake long for a reply.

_I need Shirley to take someone out and I need you here. With me. M xXx_

The doctor showed Sherlock the text and his flatmate's jaw clenched.

**If you want someone taken out, I'll do it. Not Sherlock. JW**

_No sweetie, I need you for something else. The hit job is just to keep Shirley busy. M xXx_

John pocketed the phone.

'He just wants to keep you occupied. It's me he wants. Though for what, God knows.' The doctor said to his flatmate. Sherlock growled.

'No. You're not going.' He hissed. This time, it was his own phone which beeped. He pulled it out and read the text.

_19 minutes, Shirley. Of course, this is going to take a lot longer than 19 minutes but I would urge you to take the job. After all, it could be someone who may or may not have a grudge on the good doctor. I'm only keeping him safe. M _

Sherlock put the phone away and chewed his lip.

'Actually yes, you are going.' He said. John raised an eyebrow.

'What? What did he say?' The doctor asked.

'It doesn't matter. Now you best go, before he sends someone to kidnap you.' Sherlock answered, pressing the jumper into John's hands and ushering the man out of the door.

John got into the car that pulled up without really thinking about it. He decided it was probably a bad thing that he was used to just getting into a shiny expensive car because he knew that if he didn't then he would be threatened until he did. The door closed and the car pulled away. Jim Moriarty pulled the doctor into to him, petting the man's blond hair like he would a cat.

'Jim. What's wrong?' The soldier asked warily. The criminal smiled at him.

'Nothing dear. You must be starving. We'll go to a nice restaurant, get you some proper food.' He replied silkily. John gave him a look which said that he knew something was wrong before nodding and allowing himself to lean on the Irishman.

* * *

><p>Sherlock waited patiently in the flat. If what Moriarty had said was true then he wouldn't have to go anywhere for this hit. The person would be coming right to the flat. John was relatively safe. Sherlock bit out a laughed. If 'relatively safe' meant being in the arms of that madman with no one possibly able to stop him doing God knows what if he chose that then there was clearly something very wrong with the world. Quiet footsteps alerted the detective to a new presence in th house and he hid out of sight from the entrance. A man of average height appeared in the doorway and strode inside. He looked in the kitchen then ruffled the papers on the coffee table when he realised that his target wasn't there.<p>

'Something I can help you with?' Sherlock asked conversationally. Then man whisked round to find himself facing the barrel of a gun. He dropped his own gun and put his hand sup in surrender.

'John Watson.' He growled. The detective sighed.

'Yes, I know who you're after. What I want to know is why? You don't have much history with him but this is still something personal that you thought required him to die by your hand, not that of a hitman. So tell me why and I my be lenient with how I deal with you.' He snapped warily, as if the man was barely worth any of his time.

'John Watson killed my entire family.' The man replied, rage boiling behind his eyes. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'Then I believe you've got the wrong Watson. He's not the kind to kill a family. Wife and… two children? No, he wouldn't do that.' He said. The man visibly shook with his anger.

'Watson murdered my family by doing nothing. He could have saved them but he didn't. He knew what was going to happen. He knew but all he could say was that he was sorry, then he left. They died. All of them. But next door? No, he saved them. And everyone else on the street.' The man hissed. The detective halted.

'Ah, I see. Well, Mr Mayhew, that was not my flatmates fault. He didn't kill your family, your wife did. It turns out that she was also the person who planted the bomb in the first place. She didn't want to live anymore but couldn't bare the thought of her precious children living with you by themselves so she took them with her.' Sherlock stated, remembering the case clearly. John had sat in the for the rest of the day, staring into space until Sherlock had told him there really was nothing else he could have done.

'No. She wouldn't. I don't believe you.' The man hissed. The detective shrugged.

'Fine. Ask them yourself, you do believe in the afterlife, do you not?' Before then man could answer, a bullet rippled through the air, coming to rest squarely in his forehead. Sherlock placed Johns silencer over the other gun and shot the man through the back of his chest then set to work taking out the bullets.

* * *

><p>At the restaurant, John was beginning to worry about the consulting criminal. Something had shaken the man and if something shakes the most powerful man in the world then it was probably something bad. Every time he asked what was wrong, Moriarty danced around the question and changed the subject. It was almost endearing. Almost. After an hour had past, John grew fed up off the Irishman avoiding his questions. He picked up his coat.<p>

'Right, you tell me what's wrong or I am out of here.' He snapped. Jim glared at him and stood up.

'You're not going anywhere.' He hissed. The doctor laughed harshly.

'You have no right to stop me doing anything. Since you were owed nineteen minutes and I've been here for over an hour. You know what, I'm fed up with this bullcrap. I'm not taking it anymore. So you can just piss off.' He said defiantly, making his way towards the exit. Half way across the room, John was stopped by a blade pressed against his jugular.

'You seem to be under the impression that you have some sort of control here. Allow me to set you straight.' The Irish voice growled.

'Just kill me and save yourself the effort. I don't know why you've kept me alive this long, _Moriarty_.' John bit back, in his head he was kicking himself but he couldn't stop his tongue from moving. Jim chuckled darkly and ran the blade across the doctors skin.

'I was hoping you'd be a bit more cooperative. After all, I did bring you out for a nice dinner and I haven't made a pass at you once this whole time but perhaps that isn't what you wanted. Never mind, we'll just go back to the original plan. Moran, go ahead now.' Moriarty said, the last bit was a little louder than the rest and before John could even move, he felt the small prick of something in his shoulder and the cold numbness spreading quickly through his body. The last thing he was aware of was falling into Jim's arms.

* * *

><p>Sherlock had just returned to the flat from dumping the body when his phone beeped in his pocket. He reach in and drew out the mobile to find that Lestrade was calling him.<p>

'What is it.'

'_There was a call to a restaurant down town.'_

'And? What does this have to do with me.'

'_John's been kidnapped. He was shot in the restaurant and, oddly enough, witness reports said he called the man Moriarty. No one knows where he was taken. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?' _

'No, there isn't. He was shot, you say? Shit. I've got to go, Lestrade.' Before the DI could reply, Sherlock hung up. He paced for a moment, running through everything in his head. If John was shot by Moriarty then that meant that Jim had suddenly changed plans. John had mostly likely had enough of him. Mycroft was right, bravery was the kindest word for stupidity.


	10. Chapter 10

John groaned and rolled his shoulders. He was lying on something hard. It felt like stone or concrete underneath him.

'Ah, pet, you're awake.' The Irish voice preened. 'Now we can get started.' John moved into the seating position and realised he was attached to the slab by long chains which were shackled around his ankles, leaving his hands free. He was able to move round the room but unable to escape properly.

'Moran was so annoyed with me for not allowing him to play with you. I wasn't going to, because he has a habit of breaking things. But then, you would know that, wouldn't you pet? Well he was a sniper in your squad. You had him dishonourably discharged.' Moriarty continued. John watched as one of the shadows detached itself from the wall and slunk forwards into the dim light. The doctor gulped as his eyes fell on the sunken features of Moran.

'Hello, Captain Watson, it's been too long.' He practically purr, rough voice grating slightly.

'Sebastian Moran, wish I could say the same.' John replied. Jim moved with a sway of his hips and joined the other two in the light of the small room.

'Now then, I'm going to leave you two to play and when I get back I expect someone will have an apology for me.' Moriarty said in his falsetto voice, pinching Johns chin before turning to Moran to say. 'You have twenty minutes.' Then leaving the room and bolting the door behind him.

* * *

><p>John felt a cold shiver run down his spine as Moran's calloused hands roamed his skin, removing any clothing they came across.<p>

'You don't have to do this.' John stuttered, mostly from the cold, he wasn't scared of the sniper he'd been locked in with. Not yet, anyway. Moran laughed darkly.

'What makes you think I don't want to? I've been waiting to get my own back for too long. I'm going to make you scream. You always did have a pain kink, didn't you, _captain_?' He replied, brandishing a sharp knife. John bit his lip to stop him crying out as Moran sliced the blade through his flesh, much deeper than Moriarty had done. The sniper leant down and licked the welling blood from the wound, smiling evilly as the red liquid trailed from his lips. John was pulled from the slab to the ground.

'On your knees.' The taller male hissed. The doctor complied without argument. Moran sat on the slab with his legs so that the other soldier head was between his knees.

'Go on then.' He ordered. John unzipped Moran's trousers and pulled his already hardening member out. He shivered again then tentatively opened his mouth, wrapping it round the head. Moran clearly wanted something a bit more as he grabbed the shorter males blond hair and shoved him forward. John choked and desperately tried to fight his instinct to gag. The soldier above him didn't wait for him to settle, roughly pulling and pushing on the blond hair with a guttural moan. It didn't take long for John to find himself spluttering on the salty seed. Moran pulled out with a wolfish grin plastered to his face as he gripped the blade handle again.

'Stand up.' He commanded. The doctor did so, still trying clear his throat. He felt a sudden rush of light-headedness and stumbled but didn't even get the change to regret moving. The taller male delivered a swift punch to his stomach then place the knife to the already abused flesh. He didn't even have to move as the action of John falling back to the ground caused the metal to slice into him brutally. The doctor gasped in pain and pressed him shaking hands to the new wound. This one felt bad, seriously injured bad. John's whole body felt numb, he knew he had just sustained what could be a fatal wound but he couldn't feel the pain. He flicked his eyes up to the male still sat on the slab.

'Get up.' The man growled. John felt his vision swim as he obeyed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stand for long.

* * *

><p>Sherlock paced the Yard and yelled incessantly at anyone who tried to tell him to sit down. He had dragged John into this mess with him then he allowed a clearly insane criminal mastermind to paw all over him and now said criminal mastermind had kidnapped him after scaring a restaurant full of people by allowing his pet soldier boy to fire a few rounds of an assault rifle. Moriarty had never drugged John before, that Sherlock knew of, therefore there the doctor must have took a wrong step somewhere, most likely while at the restaurant. If the stony expression seen on the Irishman's face which was picked up by the CCTV was anything to go by, John was in worlds of trouble. If he was still alive. Sherlock shook himself, of course John was still alive, Moriarty wouldn't allow him to die so soon. He was the kind of man who would take something like this personally. And deal with it personally too. Which meant John was currently being tortured. Brutally.<p>

'If you don't sit down right now, I swear to God I'll have you handcuffed to the desk.' Greg Lestrade growled, practically pulling his hair out from frustration. The detective scowled darkly but conceded and flumped into the nearest seat. The DI sighed in relief.

'So what do you know?' He asked. 'Any hints to where he is? What is happening to him?' The stone cold glance was all Greg needed to know what was happening to Dr Watson and the thought sent shivers down his spine.

'You're looking for a safe house. Somewhere that Moriarty thinks he won't be disturbed but still a place that he uses quite often, this was a spur of the moment act. He didn't have the time or the will to plan it. So it will be close, most likely in London. On the outskirts, far enough away from the normal population as to not arouse suspicion. In Moriarty tradition, it will be close to a river, a main road out of the city and the hospital or clinic-probably the one John works at. It will also be within thirty minutes driving time of 221b. Sound like anywhere you know?' He asked, knowing himself of at least five. The greying inspector thought for a second then nodded and brought up a map on the web.

'We inspected this place about a month ago after the neighbours complained about the noise. We issued the owner with a warning and never got a call back, he said he was going to get sound proofing anyway, something to do with his work. We were pressed for time so we just nodded and left, seemed a nice enough bloke. He was Irish too, I'm beginning to really hate the Irish. Well, one Irishman anyway, he seems to crop up everywhere.' Lestrade grumbled, showing Sherlock the house in question. The detective looked at it for a few seconds then tightened his scarf.

'That's the one.' He stated, moving to leave. Greg grabbed the taller man, pulling him back.

'You are not going this time.' He said bluntly. Sherlock scoffed and shrugged the hand off him. The DI pulled him back again. 'I mean it, Sherlock. I'm not letting you go.' The detective whipped round to face the inspector.

'John is currently being tortured in the most excruciating way possible by a man who knows more than enough about how to cause pain. Every second that I waste here arguing with you, he is closer to death. If not from the various wounds he's undoubtedly sustained by now then by the fact that this madman happens to quickly become bored with people. Especially when they either start begging and pleading too much or when they stop reacting altogether. Which one does John sound like to you because I can guarantee that he is not the man you think he is. Now let me go and save the only person who means a damn to me in this miserable, dull life that I have been forced to lead.' He snarled, a kindling fire smouldering behind his eyes. Seemingly the whole of the Yard had gathered to hear the heartfelt speech made by the heartless man. Greg started for the best part of thirty seconds.

'Fine. But I'm going with you.' He said, slipping his gun into its holster.

'Not in the police car.' The detective replied, seeing the older man reach for his keys. Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

'Can you really be this stupid, Lestrade? If we so up outside the house in a marked, or unmarked since he probably knows all of them, police car then John is dead before we will even find a way inside. Probably before we get out of the car. Have you ever had a mutilated corpse dumped on the bonnet of the vehicle you happen to be in? I have. It's not pleasant. We'll take a cab then walk down the street.' Sherlock snapped, making his way out of the door once again, this time with the DI on his tail.

* * *

><p>Somehow, John found the strength to look up as the door opened before him.<p>

'Moran, I think you broke my favourite toy.' Jim grumbled, voice teetering on the edge of becoming truly angry. The doctor felt his mouth welling up with blood and he spat the warm, sticky liquid onto the hard floor. Thankfully, it was from his tongue, not his lungs. His arms were barely supporting him and his legs had long since caved underneath his weight. Every inch on his body shook with the exertion from just remaining awake and sitting.

'J- ju- k- k-l-me.' He stuttered, his blood drained tongue not even managing to form the words properly. Warm hands gently tilted the doctors head up then reached down and undid the shackles round his ankles.

'Oh sweetie, you know I couldn't bare to have you killed. Think of all the fun we've had.' The Irish voice cooed. From somewhere behind, Moran made a disgruntled noise and Moriarty glared at him.

'Just go.' He snapped. 'There's a file on my desk if you're in the mood to shot someone.' The soldier left, muttering something in annoyance. When he had gone, Jim slipped his arms under the doctor and hoisted him into the air again.

'Puh-meh-d- dn.' The blond soldier protested feebly as he flittered between conscious and unconsciousness. Moriarty shushed him, as a mother would her crying child, then he swept out of the room and straight out to the awaiting vehicle.

* * *

><p>Sherlock darted into the house, whirling through each and every room like a hurricane until he came to a bolted door. He and Lestrade kicked down the door to find a small room with a concrete slab in the middle of it. Attached to the slab were metal chains and shackles. Red stains were everywhere, on every perceivable surface. But, no John. Sherlock knelt down and ran his fingers through the slightly sticky, almost hardened, goo.<p>

'It's blood.' He stated, standing again. On a whim, he closed the door and found an envelope addressed to _My dear Shirley_. He shot Lestrade a glance then ripped it open.

_I do so enjoy the time I spend with you pet, lovely enemy of mine, so I've taken him for a little more… private time. _

_Don't worry, I don't want to end up killing him, he's far too precious to for that, but my hand will be forced if you try to find us. If it makes you feel better, I'll keep him for up to a month. Many be more. You'll get him back eventually. _

_Johnny wishes you well, or he would do if he were awake at the moment. Blood loss really does take it out of people, doesn't it?_

_Til next time,_

_M _


	11. Chapter 11

Lestrade watched as the detective shook violently, nearly tearing the letter which had been stuck to the door. Sherlock must have read the note six or seven times now, judging by the amount of time the man had been stood. The DI wrapped a sturdy arm round the lanky man and carefully removed the note, pocketing it to read himself later. He didn't have to read the blasted thing to know that John wasn't in the building but his gut told him that the doctor wasn't dead either. Contrary to a certain consulting detective, Lestrade actually had some intellect and he also possessed an amount of deductive skills. The greying man gently ushered the still shaking detective out of the house and he called for the nearest patrol car to pick them up. As much as he thought a good nights sleep would do the man good, he knew that a) Sherlock wouldn't actually catch a wink of sleep unless someone knocked him out and b) Sherlock being left alone was a risk at the best of times. His flatmate had just been kidnapped by a criminal mastermind and the chances of getting the doctor back were far slimmer than he was willing to admit. This was definitely what the elder Holmes would call a 'Danger night'. Because of this, he decided that he would keep the detective in the Yard overnight at least, with supervision the whole time. He was sure that Sherlock would want to do anything to get John back. If that meant selling his soul to the devil then so be it, which was a problem because in round about terms it was probably the devil who held the doctor.

* * *

><p>In an unknown place, John cracked his eyes open. The steady beeping of the heart monitor gave him a slight grasp of time but the light pouring in, nearly blinding him, was artificial so he couldn't be sure of anything. He coughed and spat out cracked flecks of blood which had gathered inside his mouth. From his side, an arm stretched out holding a tissue and gently wiped away the saliva and blood which had dribbled down his chin. The soldier flinched but the hand didn't leave until it had done it's job. The tissue retracted but the hand came back and rested softly on his cheek. The blond doctor groaned and try to sit up.<p>

'No no no!' The haunting falsetto voice cooed. 'Stay down, you need rest, my dear.' Memories flicked through the drugged haze in John's mind and he groaned again. He should be dead, he wanted to be dead. It would have been so much easier if he hadn't survived. Sherlock would have a reason to kill the bastard and his bloody organisation, one which would make him shoot without thinking twice, and the soldier wouldn't have to go through all this again. Jim patted his face gently.

'Oh don't think like that, my dear. Moran was a bit rough, I know, but you're all fixed up now. We're just going to have to play safely for a little bit. Now how about that apology? You couldn't give it before.' The sickly sweet voice was giving John a major headache, if it was even possible to get a headache while under heavy painkillers, it probably wasn't but his body didn't care. It hadn't been one for rules for a long time now.

'Sorry.' He slurred, still not entirely sure what he was apologising for.

* * *

><p>It turned out that John hadn't been in a hospital, just well kitted out room in another of Jim's houses. He still didn't know where they actually were though, only that it was fucking freezing outside and the heating was on full. Jim had left him alone for a little bit to get acquainted with his surroundings again. By alone, he wasn't physically in the room with him, but John wasn't stupid. He knew there were camera's and bugs everywhere. Just in case. If the criminal actually trusted him then he was just as stupid as the people he robbed, killed and worked with. The doctor meandered into the kitchen and started brewing himself some tea. He had at first wondered if Jim would poison anything but he quickly dismissed the idea, why would the man save him from a fatal injury only to have him killed by dodgy food? It didn't make sense. The soldier picked up his steaming mug of tea and walked into the living room. Jim had told him not to sit on the sofa, that he hadn't earned it or something stupid like that, but John really couldn't care less. He was just about to sit down when he realised that there was an armchair, in much the same style as the one he had back at 221b. The criminal hadn't said anything about that. After quickly checking it for traps, he sat down and drank his tea leisurely.<p>

* * *

><p>Jim entered just as he finished the last dregs of the liquid with a smile plastered on his face.<p>

'Who's a clever boy.' He cooed. 'Clever enough to find the loophole in what I said. Good thing that I like that, isn't it, Johnny boy? Because you would be in a lot of trouble if I didn't.' John huffed a laugh.

'I'm in trouble no matter what I do, might as well get punished for doing something.' He replied with a shrug. The criminal sat on the sofa and patted the space next to him. John didn't move. He coughed politely.

'Would you come over here?' He asked, patting the space beside him again. The doctor looked down. He could be defiant, and get hell for it, but he just couldn't be bothered. His stomach was now a dull throb and he was going to be needing more pain killers soon. That in itself was a good enough reason to do as told, to not be complete agony. He got up and made his way over, perching on the edge of the sofa. Jim grabbed him and pulled him, not quite roughly, so that the blonds' head was resting in his lap then he started playing with the man's hair. John stayed completely still.

'So how are you feeling?' Moriarty asked out of the blue. The doctor turned to look at him.

'Wha-? I… Why are you asking?' He returned suspiciously. Jim shrugged.

'It's an important part of caring to make sure that pets are well looked after and feeling ok. Especially with humans, they rest so much on emotional wellbeing.' He answered before waiting expectantly to hear a reply to his question.

'I'm feeling strange, I think it's the meds that have got me at whacks with myself. I'm also annoyed that you've called me a pet again, resigned that I'm never going to have a normal life. A bit pissed of that I'm still alive because it means I'll probably have to go through all this shit again only to be brought back from the cold grasp of death. Then I'm worried that Sherlock is going to get himself killed, sad that I've not seen him, angry that you think you can do whatever you want with me like I'm some sort of puppet. Is that enough for you to be going on?' He asked sarcastically. Jim clipped him round the ear for the cheek then kissed it better.

'Much, dear.' He chuckled.

* * *

><p>Back at 221b, Sherlock paced the flat. Lestrade had forced him to spend the night they found the note in the Yard, with someone watching him all the time. They had tried to get him to sleep and refused to let him go home until they believed he'd had at least a few hours sleep. It was a good thing that he knew how to act well because there was no way he would have ever been able to sleep. After this, he'd been kept under constant surveillance by his brother for the next thirty-six hours in case he did something 'he'd regret'. Basically, they didn't trust him not to kill himself or slip back into drugs or something stupid. As if he would, drugs that is. John had made him give up and he had sworn he wouldn't use again. That didn't just mean when John was around, that meant the whole time. And as for suicide, well. John wasn't dead. Jim had him. Sherlock hoped he was behaving himself, it sounded stupid and like he was giving in but if John behaved himself, did as asked, then maybe he wouldn't be injured as much. It wasn't a cheery thought but it was all he had. His partner would be returned to him somehow, this much he knew. But as for the condition, he hoped the man would be ok. It was only hope though, everything he knew told him he'd be lucky if John could coherently formulate sentences.<p>

* * *

><p>Someone knocked at the door and the detective sighed before getting up. He knew who was there from the footsteps but he still acted surprised when Lestrade stepped across his threshold, albeit in a highly sarcastic manner.<p>

'Enough of that.' The DI jibbed, not really in the mood for it. 'I came round to make sure you were ok.' Sherlock's scowl turned deadly.

'No, you came to baby sit. I did live by myself before, you know.' He growled, turning his back on the man to show he wasn't welcome. Greg entered anyway and took off his coat.

'Yes but your boyfr-'The detective cut him off.

'Not my boyfriend.' He mentally added, _We are companions, partners, soul mates, even lovers but boyfriends just sounds childish._

'Fine, your _flatmate _has been kidnapped by a criminal psychopath. Not only that, but when you lived by yourself you almost killed yourself so many times that we were on the verge of putting you in the cells for your own protection. Had you not met John, you would've been spending at least three nights in the suicide watch cells. I will put you there now if I think for even a moment that you need it.' Lestrade didn't like threatening Sherlock. The man had had a hard enough time without making his friend seeming like enemies. The consulting detective was seething but he was completely silent, which was a worrying sign. Sherlock turned his back on his guest again and went into the kitchen. He hadn't done a single experiment since John left, John was the one who tidied the mess up, John made sure that he wasn't too injured afterwards, John berated him for it. It was funny when he thought about it that now his flatmate wasn't with him, experiments seemed to have lost their lustre. His insides ached to be away from the doctor but he knew he couldn't go after them. But he had to do something. The detective smiled at Greg, the man wouldn't let him go on cases, that much was clear, so he had to get him out of his flat before he could ask someone who would.

'I am fine. Moriarty is a man of his word. He said he would bring John back to me and he will. He didn't mention his condition, however and so that is what we should worry about. If I go after them, the chances of John being himself when he returns would be next to none. I can only stay here and wait. So wait I shall. Please, can you leave me alone?' He asked. The detective inspector clicked his tongue as he thought about it. He had only come round to check the man was ok, the flat was clean and he clearly wasn't high or in the process of killing himself. He looked depressed but he wasn't a danger to himself. Greg nodded in defeat.

'Ok. But you will ring me if you need anything.' He stated, making his way to the door.

'You don't need to do this. I'm sure my caring brother has made sure every possible camera is on my flat and me. Even I can't do anything you would deem dangerous with that amount of surveillance.' Sherlock grumbled in such a way that it put the last remaining doubts in Lestrades' mind to rest. The DI nodded and made his farewells before leaving.

As soon as the man had left, Sherlock found his phone, the one that Mycroft didn't know he had, and quickly sent a text.


	12. Chapter 12

John was in the king sized bed which seemed to swallow him whole. His stomach was healing well and the pain was subsiding to the point that he was only taking one dose of pain killers a day, instead of the five that he'd been having before. The only odd thing was that he still didn't have any grasp of the date. He had no idea how long he'd been out after Moran had ransacked him and there was nothing in the house which told him the date. It was like he was inside a bubble, cut off from the world completely. The doctor didn't think that this was by accident, Jim probably had some reason for not telling him the date. As if the man knew he was in his captives thoughts, Moriarty appeared in the room, waving his phone.

'Looky here! I just got a text from your honey bun. He says he wants work. Shall I give him some? He could work with Sebby!' The criminal said gleefully. The soldier gulped. He didn't want Sherlock taking any jobs for Moriarty, especially not with his hired hitman. But if Sherlock was asking, it meant he was struggling. Doing this could be the thing that stopped him doing drugs or committing suicide. And if it happened to be taking a hit on someone then at least it was someone who deserved it, not a randomer from the street who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

'Give him work but please don't put him with Moran.' John begged, he felt his squashed pride scream in indignation but he held it back with his sheer force of will. The criminal liked to hear him beg, especially when it was without being told to. Moriarty smiled happily and sent a text.

'Ok, dear.' He cooed. 'Since you pleaded so nicely I think I can find something for him to do that doesn't require my darling sniper.' The soldier sighed and sat up, knowing that if Jim was in here, he wasn't going to be sleeping anymore.

Less than ten minutes after sending the text, Sherlock got his reply. He clicked the screen and read the answer.

**Dear, asking me for work? This is new. Luckily for you, I do happen to have something I need taking care of. You'll need your suit and a gun, not John's. Have fun, darling. M**

In the attachment, the detective found the 'mission brief' and everything he needed. He had expected this to be a hit but it wasn't. It was collecting a payment. He wondered why he was being given such a role, he could easily had this into the Yard and the whole plan would be a bust. Not to mention the millions of pounds worth of payment to be collected. This person had already used Moriarty's services and now the devil was coming to take his payment. Sherlock shrugged into his coat, slipped the phone into his pocket and collected a gun from his room before sneaking out of the flat through the window in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, the only exit which didn't have a CCTV camera which could be turned onto it. Then he slipped away, down the street with a crowd of people as to not be seen.

The house (mansion) was large, clearly the client had been incredibly rich (which begged the question- why did he ask for the help of a consulting criminal? What could he possibly need that he didn't already have?). Sherlock chuckled hollowly, the rich never needed anything, but their greed was a finely tuned instrument, as was their vanity, which drove them like hunger and desperation drove those in poverty. There was bound to be something he wanted which he couldn't get had he not got the power and wealth. Clearly there was something that even his status couldn't grant him, and that was where the consulting criminal came in. Sherlock straightened his tie and brushed the lint off his suit before walking into the mansion. He flicked his eyes around and quickly got a base feel for the place, and the man who lived there. The client was unmarried, a womaniser, vain, greedy, of the upper end of the rich classification of people and he knew it. Sherlock walked confidently down the corridor to the large lounge, in the briefing it had said exactly where the man was likely to be at any given time. He opened the door and stood in the doorway, looking like an avenging angel with the light from the window opposite silhouetting him and making his appearance even more godly. The client stuttered.

'W-what are you doing here?' He asked, he had know idea who Sherlock was, which was probably a good thing, but he knew why the man was here. He was just trying to by himself some time. Sherlock adopted a sort of drawl to his voice, which mixed with his posh dialect to make a truly terrifying concoction.

'Come now, we both know why I'm here.' He cooed in the condescending way Jim had so many times before. The man squirmed in his seat but said he didn't have any idea what Sherlock was there for. The detective tutted.

'Why don't you run along at get the payment and give it to me. Then I will leave and you can pretend this never happened.' He said forebodingly. The man shook his head and reached for his phone. Sherlock side, drew his gun and shot the man's hand before he reached it. The man screeched in pain and clutched the injured limb to his chest, tears appearing in his eyes.

'You shot me! You shot my hand!' He yelled as if the intruder was unaware of this fact. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'Yes. And I will shoot much more than your hand if you don't do as I've said. Do you think it will be so easy to attract those foul woman you find attractive if you've been castrated?' The man paled and leapt out of his seat, running out of the room.

Back in the unknown part of the world, John found himself in the kitchen in the house Moriarty had put him in. The man wanted him to make them both something for lunch, something cooked. John had raided the cupboards and looked at everything before finally deciding to do toad in the hole, sausages in a large Yorkshire pudding with potato and gravy. It was a dinner his mum always made him when he needed to be cheered up, back when things were good and he actually had a family to speak of, not a group of people who were related to each other. With the ingredients ready, John washed his hands and started making the dinner. He had to admit that doing something helped to calm him down, he supposed that was why he enjoyed making dinners and brewing tea. It gave him time to think while his hands were actually doing something. The soldier chuckled. That was a rather domestic thought, it didn't befit him at all. John was long past wondering why the consulting criminal was getting him to do things which could possibly give him the ability to kill him. Even with cameras trained on him, there were ways of slipping things into food and no one being any the wiser until it was too late. Moriarty didn't seem to care. He ushered John into the kitchen and ordered him not to leave unless it was to tell him that dinner was on the table. Like they were a family. That thought made the doctor shiver. Moriarty was acting like they were a couple, that in it's self was scary enough. Bt the man was unpredictable, not as unpredictable as Mycroft Holmes but more so than John was altogether happy about. He placed the dish into the oven and closed the oven door, then checked on the potatoes and stirred a gravy before hunting for plates in the multitude of cupboards.

Sherlock walked slowly behind the client, making sure to keep the man in his sights. It was odd that he hadn't seen any servants. The mansion must have some, it was so clean but the man himself would never do it. That was clear enough by the way he left things were he last needed them and expected them to be put away for him. The client ran up stairs and ducked into a small room. The consulting detective followed him and stood by the door, watching him keenly as he went into a cupboard and took out a false bottom. The man pulled out a medium sized box and brought it back.

'It's all in there.' The man affirmed, passing the box to Sherlock. The detective looked at it, there was a small lock pad which had a number pad on it. The hinges of the box had been tampered with. Sherlock looked at him.

'Give me the code.' He said. The man shook his head.

'No, I'm giving the code to Moriarty. He can open it himself.' The client answered. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at the lock again. He pressed the first button, the one which had the most residue on it. He then let his fingers glide over the keys, watching the client closely as he did so. The man tensed and he pressed the button. Then Sherlock did the same thing again and again until he had entered all six digits. The client was astounded.

'How? But?' He babbled. Sherlock opened the box and found what he was looking for but also that there were vials all across the top of the box with a small machine that linked them with the lock and the hinges of the box. Sherlock turned to the man.

'You were never going to give us the code, where you? He asked. 'You were going to let us break into this box which would let what I can only guess is some sort of acid fall onto the documents, making them useless. That's a very stupid thing to do.' Before the man could explain himself, Sherlock shot him in the leg, as was protocol (supposedly) and left with the papers.

John sat at a small table with Jim sat right next to him. They were about half way through dinner, which had so far been passed only with light conversation (the state of politics, how annoying it was to train good minions these days, the shocking standards of Scotland Yard, war, famine- so not exactly light topics but lighter than what could be being talked about) but John knew that this was about to change. The criminal was rubbing his shin in a sexual manner with one of his feet, which meant they were probably going to have an in depth conversation about something stupid, the psychopath was then going to ask (force) him somewhere more… suitable. All in all, John figured he was screwed, or he would be very soon. Moriarty finished his plate and hummed to himself while the doctor finished his own, trying to by himself some time without alerting the criminal to the fact that he was stalling. He glanced and Jim's face and realised he'd been found out. John coughed and resumed eating at a normal pace until he'd also finished. He then stood up, collecting plates but Moriarty grabbed him by the sleeve.

'Sit back down.' He purred. 'You're working too hard.' John gulped but did as asked, silently praying for anything to happen so that he could get out this trap and yet knowing that even if something did happen, he wouldn't use it as a chance to leave.

'Now then, I think you deserve a little treat. I had expected you to at least try to do something, to pull one over so to say, but no. And you really are a wonderful cook.' His voice sunk impossibly lower and the doctor had to hold himself to stop him leaning away from the man. He didn't want this, did he? No. he didn't. Then again… No. Just no. Jim chuckled and nipped at his ear.

'Am I really that repulsive to you?' He asked with a hurt expression. 'Even after I get you fixed up and let you rest and even let you into my own home?' John glared at him.

'I wouldn't have been needed to be fixed up if you hadn't have let your psycho sniper have a go at me. I nearly died! And as for being here, well too much movement could open my wounds which might kill me and you obviously don't want that, and also while I'm here I'm right under your nose were you can keep a nice close eye on me and manipulate Sherlock at the same time.' The soldier hissed, completely snapping. His senses returned to him about half a second later and his own mouth dropped in shock. Moriarty stared at him, unflinchingly.


	13. Chapter 13

John found himself handcuffed to the large sofa in the lounge that he hadn't been allowed to sit on before. He didn't know how he managed to be handcuffed to the sofa, Moriarty had jabbed him with something then dragged him, conscious but paralysed, to the room and stripped him. Again. Then he took out the handcuffs and somehow attached them to the arm of the sofa before clicking them around the doctors wrists. It was shortly after this that feeling and movement returned to the soldier, not that it helped much. Jim sat on top of him, as if John were actually just part of the sofa, twirling his fingers across his blond captives' back.

'It's a shame that you have to be so ungrateful.' The criminal sighed. 'I had such a night planned for us. I was even going to let you top, if you wanted to.' John shuffled so he could see behind him. The man was serious. He actually thought he was being nice. Well fuck.

'Please let me go.' The soldier whimpered, he hadn't had any pain medication and Jim was sat in such a way that all his weight was solely on the wound on the doctors stomach. Moriarty smiled and stood up.

'Let you go? But dear, we're having so much fun!' He patted the doctors head. 'And you still need to apologise to me.' John opened his mouth but the psychopath pressed a finger to his lips. 'No, words are feeble. I want a proper apology. I want you to give yourself over to me. Then I'll forgive you.' The doctor sighed.

'Do as you will.' He sighed, turning his head so he faced the sofa. Jim tutted at him but didn't speak in favour of divesting himself of his own clothing and lifting the soldiers hips up. John bit his lip to keep the whimper from breaking free as he left the hardened member against his entrance.

* * *

><p>Sherlock sat with the documents. He had been given strict orders not to read them, in any other situation, he would have ignored that completely but if John's life at stake? He put the papers into a brown paper envelope and sent a text to Moriarty to say he had completed the mission, one which also explained casualties.<p>

* * *

><p>The phone vibrated and Jim sighed, it seemed that no one had any sense of timing, still rocking harshly into the doctor below him, the criminal took out his mobile and read the text.<p>

'Well well, Shirley was successful. Shame he had to shoot our client though. I'll send him another case later, hmm?' A particularly hard thrust told John he was supposed to answer. The doctor bit out a stuttering 'Yes', trying not to lose control completely. Jim leant forwards and started to nib at his captives neck gently. John moaned at the contact, a sound which sent shockwaves through the psychopath. He slowed down and started moving at his leisure, instead of with the intent to injure. He tried nipping again and this time, the soldier mewled.

'Make that sound again.' Moriarty growled. John did, though whether because he had asked or because he just couldn't stop himself was uncertain. Jim felt as if that sound alone could bring him to orgasm. He snapped his hips, making the man below him gasp in pain.

'This is not giving yourself over to me.' The criminal hissed, stopping his movements altogether. 'I want you to beg. Show me you're sorry.' He growled, still unmoving. John whimpered and bit his lip, drawing blood. Moriarty slapped him hard and he caved.

'Please.' He begged. 'Please, fuck me, fill me, make me scream. Please! Tear me apart. Use me. Please Jim.' The doctor babbled, adding a few more 'pleases' at the end, hoping that it was enough to just get this over with. Jim smiled and continued brutally slamming into the soldier. John screamed, not even bother to muffle the sounds. Finally, Moriarty fell over the edge and filled the doctor with his seed before collapsing on the blond below him.

* * *

><p>Sherlock received a text back, telling him the drop off point. His eyes narrowed when he saw that the capital letter was missing at the beginning of the text. It wasn't like Moriarty to miss such important punctuation and no one else would be allowed anywhere near his phone so it must have been done by him. This meant that the criminals mind had to be sufficiently indisposed at the time he was texting. Sherlock could taste the bile in the back of this throat, threatening to make him throw up. He quickly changed the subject in his mind, focusing instead on where the drop off point was and what he actually had to do to get John back. He thought for a moment then quickly rephrased the last part. What he had to do to get John back alive and well.<p>

* * *

><p>After Jim had removed himself and gone to change his clothes, John sighed and rested his head on his forearms, which were still attached by the wrists to the sofa. He couldn't quite think when his life had taken such a turn. He ached and the liquid trailing down his legs wasn't in the least bit pleasant. He knew he had been playing with fire, Moriarty was an evil criminal psychopath, so why did he feel the need to put himself through this? Surely this went beyond the adrenaline junkie part of him. After all, he'd just been shagged on the sofa as a why of apologising to the Irishman for snapping at him- at least that's what he thought he was apologising for. It could be anything really. The consulting criminal swayed back into the room and took a moment to stare in appreciation at the fine soldier he had in his living room. He ran a finger down the doctor's spine, skirted over his abused perineum and trailed the sticky liquid oozing down the man's inner thigh.<p>

'Mmmm… I think you're forgiven.' He cooed, squeezing John's thigh gently. The soldier shivered.

'Thank you.' He muttered when he felt that if he didn't answer he was probably going to have to go through all that again. His wrists were released from the bonds and he sat up, rubbing the feeling back into them. Sherlock was going to go berserk when he found out.

'I think he already knows, dear.' Moriarty hummed. 'I did give a rather large hint in my reply to his text.' John froze. _Well_, his mind supplied, trying to make the best of it all, _At least he has time to calm down before he next sees you. _Jim's hands had gone back to trailing patterns all over the soldier's skin.

'Can I have a shower, please?' John asked, trying to be courteous. The dark haired man seemed to ponder this for a few moments before replying.

'No.' The soldier wanted to ask why but he decided better of it and just accepted that he was going to have to feel used and abused for a little while longer. He shuffled, trying to sit down comfortably but eventually gave up when he knew it wasn't going to happen, instead going for trying to keep as much of himself covered as possible. Moriarty chuckled and laced a hand into his hair, pulling the man down so the doctors' chest lay on his lap.

'I didn't have you pegged as shy.' He chuckled. John glanced up at him, craning his neck so that he could actually see the man's face.

'I'm not shy, It's a defensive position. I've just been sexually abused, I have the right to feel as though I need to hide away and protect what little of me remains.' He replied. Moriarty's hand stopped it's movements for a split second before continuing as it had down, stroking John's back as he would a cat or lapdog.

'You think you've been sexually abused?' He questioned. John flipped himself, not without wincing, so that he didn't have to strain his neck.

'Well, yes. I do.' He stated, adamantly. Jim raised an eyebrow.

'You consented.' The man purred darkly. The blond doctor rolled his eyes.

'If you could call it consent.' He muttered. 'And anyway, being sexually abused is not the same as being raped. You are treating me like a fucktoy the you stole from Sherlock. It's abuse and I may have consented in a round about way but that didn't mean I wanted this.' He knew he really should stop talking now but his mouth seemed to be mouth functioning and was saying everything he felt, not just what he wanted to say.

'I mean, seriously? I've got Sherlock suddenly protective, you kidnapping me, carting me off places, fucking me whenever you feel like it. I don't have a life of my own anymore. I can't go to the fucking shops because I will be attacked by one of your men or by Sherlock. I can't even do my job anymore. To make matters worse, Sherlock's off doing your little jobs for you. I don't care he killed someone, I care that he's now killing and being a handyman for you. What do I have left?' He huffed, then more quietly he repeated, 'What do I have left?' Jim gave him a strange glance, one which John didn't quite understand the meaning behind. Without even a seconds warning, he shoved the soldier off his knee and stood up briskly. John could only watch as the man threw a set of clothes in his direction, a silent order to get dressed. John complied and soon found himself being dragged out of the door.

* * *

><p>The soldier was rather surprised when he found himself being marched up the stairs to his own flat. Sherlock looked as though he wanted to pounce on him but was worried that doing so would mean they both got blown up or something. Jim pushed John forwards and ushered him to the stairs which lead up to his room.<p>

'I want a word with Shirley.' He said in a parenting sort of fashion. 'You go up to your room and we'll be there in a tick.' John didn't even look at him, he knew what this 'word' was going to be about. Well they could talk for forty nights for all he cared. It was a strange feeling, having the weight of frustration lifted from his person but it made him feel hollow. A shell of a human being. He barked a humourless laugh as he realised he was juts a toy. Something for the two children downstairs to play with and squabble over when they have nothing better to do, then to hide away and ignore completely until one decides they want to play with him again. It was stupid how he had let himself get so deep into this. He couldn't live without Sherlock and Moriarty but if this was going to continue, he wasn't going to be living very long anyway.

* * *

><p>After twenty minutes. John got tired of waiting for Jim to come up and say that he had accidentally murdered Sherlock, or Sherlock to appear and say that they might have to move out pretty sharpish because he'd just accidentally burned Moriarty's face off with strong hydrochloric acid, or perhaps even them both appear with some horribly harebrained scheme designed to get him killed or worse for their amusement. He looked out for the window as if it had the answer of what he should do before he went to open the door. Only to find that he couldn't. He looked down and the handle to find that the key wasn't there. He kept the only key on his side, in the lock on the door, so that if Sherlock was being a prat he could just turn it and be done with it but it wasn't there. He hadn't heard either man walk up the stairs but that didn't mean that they hadn't. What it did mean was that he had to stay put until the two decided he could be let out. He was under bloody house arrest.<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

John paced the floor of his bedroom. It had now been an hour and he still hadn't been released. The soldier was now beyond frustrated. He yelled to be released only to be answered by serene silence. Finally, the man turned to his window. He looked down to find that Mrs Hudson had but up a vine fence for the ivy to climb. The doctor checked over his healing wounds. If he were to give a patient which the same injuries some advice, it would be to avoid doing anything strenuous or stressful. Then again, if he were to give a soldier advice when captured with two maniacs and a clear exit, it would most assuredly be to get the hell out of there. Totting up the scores, he decided it was probably going to be less detrimental to his health to escape down the vine fence. John went to his wardrobe and searched it until he found a slate grey hoodie, it had been bought by his sister and he had never worn it. Thankfully, his sister always made subtle jokes about him needing to lose weight and this was one of them as it was about a size too big. Normally, he would have scowled at her but at this moment he was silently thanking her as it meant the hood covered much more of his face. Now in jeans and the hoodie, with all the cash he could find in his room, John decided to place his mobile on the desk, so he couldn't be traced through that. The blond placed an ear to the door, he couldn't even hear them, so he gave himself the go ahead and quietly opened the window.

Now John Watson didn't think of himself as a man to get scared but sitting on a windowsill, looking down at a drop that wouldn't directly kill him but could cause his abused body enough damage to cause it to give out, gave him the most odd of chills. He wouldn't call it _getting scared_ it was more his self preservation kicking in and telling him to stop being such a moron. Still, he'd invaded Afghanistan, it stood to reason that he didn't listen to his self preservation very often and he wasn't about to start now, not with the possibility that he could escape the madness for an hour or two. John swivelled round and placed his foot on the wood of the fence. He shook it slightly to get a feel for the fence before slowly lowering the rest of his weight onto it. Once he had his whole weight on the fence, he began his descent, careful not to make any sound.

* * *

><p>On the ground, the soldier pressed his back to the wall and quickly made his way around to the front. Just as John was about to get to the front of the house, he suddenly thought that the two men would have thought of him trying to escape, it was well within the bounds of possibility, and would have made arrangements to stop him from going any further. The man dropped to the floor and peered round the corner. Just as he suspected, there was a black car parked against the curb. John scanned the rooftops, he couldn't see and cameras but that didn't mean they weren't there. The soldier made his way round to the back of the house again, even if a crowd appeared, he won't be able to get there without the cameras seeing him. This was a stealth op, he would never hear the end of it if he didn't even manage to get off the property.<p>

The soldier looked around for an escape route, the back of the house had a garden and a hedge which meant with the garden of another house. If he could get through that hedge, he would be on the next street over and then he would just have to find a way to hide from the cameras. He crept to the window and peered in, the curtains were closed. He smiled to himself as this meant that no one could look out at spot him. He dashed the few metres and all but leapt through the hedge, only just managing to keep himself inside it by grasping hold of some of the branches, silently cursing and the thorns dug into him. The soldier found a hole which lead into the other garden and looked over to the house. No lights were on, nor could he hear any noise. Deciding that the family was out, he scuttled out of the hedge and scampered across the garden, keeping to the fence.

* * *

><p>Once he had made his way round to the front of the house, John stopped for a moment to pick out the worst of the thorns. His hands stung and he clenched then unclenched them continually to try and limit the pain. Now that he was the next street over, there was less chance of anyone picking him out of a crowd. He just had to find one. John made sure that his hood was up and casting a shadow across the rest of his face then he stepped out and onto the pavement.<p>

* * *

><p>Twelve minutes. He'd been walking for twelve minutes now and he hadn't been picked up. Jim and Sherlock could talk for hours, each gloating about who was the smartest and who had done the most damage to the others life. He was sure he'd even seen texts on Sherlock's phone arguing over who he loved more. John didn't know whether it was because his plan was working or because they wanted to see what he was going to do next but he was now to the stage of planning where he was going to go. If he were just running from Moriarty, he would have gone to the homeless community, as many knew him, and would try to lay low there. As it stood, however; the homeless community, even the ones who liked him, owed so much to Sherlock that they wouldn't even think of hiding someone from him should he come sniffing. The only other person who he could have gone to for help was the last person he wanted to see. Mycroft Holmes had definitely got the resources to hide him and hide him well but John could fill a book with reasons why he wasn't going to go to the elder Holmes for help. This meant that he was completely by himself. He wouldn't drag his family into this and everyone else couldn't be trusted not to give him away which meant he was by his self. The soldier continued to walk down the street and as he moved, an idea sparked. Perhaps he didn't have to be <em>completely <em>by himself. Somewhere he knew didn't have CCTV because the man who ran the joint trusted the people he helped.

* * *

><p>John passed through the doors and made his way over to a bench with space for him to sit, close enough to appear as though his part of the crowd but far enough away that he wouldn't be dragged into the conversation. Scattered around the large room, people talked, ate from plastic trays, moped, swapped stories. It was one of the better homeless shelters in the area, well it was run by a exceptionally caring person. A man came across and bumped him on the shoulder with his fist.<p>

'Not seen you hear before mate.' His gruff voice incredibly cheerful. John turned to him and the man's jaw forgot how to keep itself up.

'Hello to you too, Steve.' The soldier answered, letting his hood fall to show his face. Steve blinked for several seconds before gesturing for the doctor to follow him into a small room just off the main hall.

The small room had a desk to one side, not in the middle like a business, and the chairs were both as comfortable as each other. Steve took one chair and gestured to the other one for John to take. He sat down and smiled slightly. The other man sighed and rubbed his face, rubbing his left knee with a wince.

'What are you doing here?' He asked. 'If you need money you should ask, I can ask round. We all help each other, you know.' John stopped him.

'I don't need money. I just need to lay low.' Steve gave him an odd look. 'Seriously.' The doctor stated. His old friend smiled and leant forward.

'Fill us in then.' He pressed. John sighed, Steve was one of the gossiping type. It was a miracle that Sherlock hadn't come to him for information because the man was a sinkhole for gossip. Nothing escaped his ears. But he was a man or high morals and was one of the most trustworthy people John knew, and that was saying something.

'My male flatmate- tall, dark, you no the type-and a creepy bloke-Irish and a bit of a psycho but don't worry cos you won't know him-are both fighting each other for my affection. I've been in and out of various hospital wards since they started this flipping game. Now I don't want to call the police on this, partly because my flatmates brother is in the government doesn't actually know about this little problem as of yet but also because the creepy bloke also will have things in lace to stop him being charged. And I don't actually want to get them in trouble, I do like them both.' He said. Steve coughed.

'Uh. Wow.. So what's the problem?' He asked. John smiled.

'They locked me in my bedroom so that they could have a private conversation about me. I snuck out down the window and ran off. They've probably realised I've disappeared by now. I just wanted some time away from the madness, it's wearing me out.' He replied. The doctor inspected his hands and began plucking at the remaining thorns out of his hands.

'Wow. I thought I could see that look in your eyes.' The other male chuckled. John raised an eyebrow.

'What look?' He asked. Steve had a twinkle in his eye, like he found it amusing that John had seen it himself.

'The look that you always got when you were organising a breakout.' John had met Steve at the army hospital. The doctor was just about the worst patient in the entire hospital and was known for going on supposedly 'impromptu' walks. Ones which were planned and executed was extreme precision and often meant he was unaccounted for for many hours, though he was always found eventually. Even if it was after he had given up hiding. His spare time activities were soon called 'breakouts' by the other patients on his ward. The blond doctor sniggered and winced when his lower back twinged painfully.

'Well you're always welcome here. I just hope your two boys know what they're getting themselves into.' Steve went to stand up and John caught his jacket.

'I know I don't really have to say this, but this is a story that I wouldn't like spread round, yeh? I get enough people asking me if I'm gay without knowing I have two blokes hounding me.' He didn't have to mention the rest of it, he knew Steve wouldn't talk about that. The man nodded.

'Of course, mate, you know me.' Then he opened the door. 'So can I get you summat to eat?'

* * *

><p>It took twenty minutes but John was finally convinced to eat something, though he demanded that he paid for it because he wasn't actually homeless and there were people who actually needed the food. Steve shook his head at the stubbornness of his old friend, John had helped him get through the physio with his left leg, which had been blown off by a car bomb. He just hadn't bee able to get a hang of walking but John had been on the bed next to him and showed him exercises that he'd been given. He also became a human crutch and helped Steve to walk that way until he had been able to do it by himself. The man didn't know how John managed to escape so much and stay so… well strong when his shoulder was a wreck. He hadn't seen the man for over a year and a half and he found himself amazed by the man yet again. You couldn't tell from they way he looked now that he had a bullet through his shoulder and that limp was practically non-existent. Steve chuckled to himself as he watched John shifting his gaze from space to space almost lazily unless you knew he was still in the game. He was looking for these two men he'd spoken of. The owner of the homeless shelter took a quick look out of the window himself, well what sort of friend would he be if he didn't look out for a friend in need? In need of a bit of sanity.<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

Five hours since he left the flat, John stood up and made his way over to where Steve stood.

'I'm giving up now.' He stated. The man nodded, still with the glint in his eyes and a smile on his face. Well, the only time John was ever found was when he wanted to be.

'Good luck then, mate. Be sure you come round soon, yeh? We can get the rest that are back on home soil together and have a proper booze night. Give you some space from those nutters of yours' Steve suggested, giving the doctor a nudge. John smiled and nodded, having a booze night every once in a while might be just what he was searching for. If he could somehow convince the two men-children to give him a day off a week or something then he could have his own life. He didn't have to be around a genius _all_ the time, he could have some time with people on his own level with his own interests, like getting pissed and daring each other to hit on the bar maid, whether they fancied her or not. Who knows, it might even grow and allow him to find a job he could actually keep while being fought over by the two loonies and dragged from place to place and…. Yeh, and _that_. John coughed and smiled again to hide the reddening of his face.

'221b Baker Street. But I'd give it a few days before you come round. The landlady will know if I'm in.' He said before shaking Steve's hand and making his way out of the homeless shelter and back onto the street.

* * *

><p>The soldier walked along the pavement in the direction of 221b, half expecting to be picked up by someone on the way back. He'd been followed by so many black cars now that he figured he knew who wanted him just by the car tailing him. As if by magic, a black car came out of a drive beside him and followed him a little way down the street. John turned his head subtly to get a good look at the vehicle.<p>

'Shit.' Out of all the people who could send a car out to pick him up, this one had the distinct air of pompous interference meaning that it was sent by Mycroft. The doctor weighed up his options, the chances of him being able to escape the car were minimal at best. The chances of him being able to escape Mycroft Holmes were zero. John stopped walking altogether and swiveled round to face the car, which pulled up beside him. He opened the door and stepped inside, something which took the two rather large men sat on the cushy leather seats by surprise. A quick glance told John that they had fully intended using force to get him into the vehicle. It seems that Mr Holmes wasn't happy then, he'd never used force before. The large men looked at each other, unsure of what to do. John rolled his eyes.

'If you want to subdue me then fine, I'm sure your boss is going to have you hides if you don't. There's not a lot I can do about it.' He said. Neither man spoke but one of them took his arms and attached the handcuffs to them, rather gently it had to be said. The doctor looked at the cuffs.

'Wow. I expected you to gas me or something.' He chuckled. The men both gave him an odd glance and he froze. 'What? You were going to?' Neither answered. 'I'll take that as a yes.' The doctor stopped talking, there was no point talking when it was clear that he wasn't going to be answered. He wasn't even sure that the two men could answer him. Stop your minions having the ability to speak and you stop the problem of them letting anything slip while bantering with the prisoner.

The car stopped and one of the men opened his door and stepped out. The other man then politely pushed John to the exit and the doctor got out. _It's nice to have kidnappers who are kind, it really makes the whole experience a lot nicer_, he thought with a chuckle. He was lead through various corridors into an small room, one which looked more like a waiting area and he was sure this was not where his tour of the unknown building was going to end. The soldier didn't know if that was something he should be happy about or afraid of.

* * *

><p>The two men left the room, leaving John by himself. He looked around, hands still in the cuffs. He hadn't felt it before but the handcuffs were on the abused skin off his wrists. Now that he had noticed that little fact, he was unable to not think about it. He couldn't even rub his wrists to ease the irritation. It seems that Mycroft was going to make him wait. John didn't understand why people in high places made their 'guests' wait for them like it made them seem more important. It didn't, it just made them look late and arrogant twats. Speaking of arrogant twats, the door opened and Mycroft walked inside. Now John had met with this man many times and on not one occasion could he say that he saw any genuine emotion anywhere near the government official. Today, however; was different. Today, John could see a very strong emotion practically radiating off of the elder Holmes brother. Unfortunately, this emotion was anger.<p>

'John Watson.' His voice grated. 'I had hoped you would be the man who would save my brother. You had been such a good influence. Now look at the mess you find yourself in.' John glared at him.

'Let me out of these cuffs. Now.' He ordered. Mycroft snapped, and forced him down into the nearest seat.

'You are not in any position to make demands of me!' He yelled. The soldier flinched but Mycroft wasn't finished yet. 'I had hoped he was back on the drugs. Did you know that? No, you don't know anything! What on earth could be going through that brain of yours? It will be fun to get Sherlock to go against Moriarty for you. Is that what this is all about? You somehow worm your way into my brother heart then you corrupt him and make him feel like he has to fight for your affection? You said so yourself. Seemed pretty pleased about it too.' He hissed.

'You've got it wrong.' John gasped. 'I didn't want this.' Mycroft laughed bitterly.

'Yes, well you got it anyway, didn't you?' He growled.

'I can fix this.' The doctor said. Well, he was getting his life sorted out, he just broke down slightly. If he could find away to juggle keeping both men satisfied as well as his own life going. If he could just do that then everything would be sorted.

'Well isn't that a shame.' The government official stated. John gave him a questioning glance and the man laughed darkly. 'You thought that I would give you a telling off and let you go? I'm not your mother, Dr Watson. I have no intention of letting you go anywhere near my brother ever again.' His voice was laced with a protective darkness, he was willing to do anything to keep his little brother from harm.

'So how are you going to do it then?' John asked, preparing himself for what was likely to be a gruesome answer. Mycroft shook his head.

'I'm not going to kill you, Dr Watson. I'm going to keep you. Keep you where I know exactly where you are and that you can't do any more damage to him ever again. And every time something bad happens to him, or he injures himself, you will know about it because I will do oh so much worse to you.' With that, the elder Holmes clicked his fingers and the door opened again, this time the two large men reappeared. One had a syringe.

'Oh come on.' The soldier huffed. 'Where the hell am I going to run off to?' The two men approached him and he hung his head in defeat. He felt a pair of sturdy hands grip him tightly then the sharp prick of a needle in the side of his neck. Whatever crap they had just loaded into his system, it was strong and he went under in a matter of seconds.

* * *

><p>'Have you found him yet?'<p>

'No.'

'Well if your evil schemes are as bad as this then I don't know how you got to be the best criminal in the world.'

'Like you can talk.' Sherlock stared in disbelief. He knew that his track record with losing John wasn't the best but the man had never actively ran off before. They shouldn't be bickering, they should be finding him. A young man scampered up to him.

'I heard you were looking for Dr Watson.' The man said. Sherlock nodded slowly. 'Well, you see, he was at homeless shelter. The man who runs it is an army buddy or summat. The doctor walked out though, ages ago. He said he was 'giving up'. Steve said that they would get the gang back together and have a booze night to give the doctor some relief from 'those nutters' of his. Then Dr Watson walked out.'

'How long ago was this?' Moriarty asked the man. He looked wary about answering someone other than Mr Holmes but he replied anyway. The stranger gave him the creeps but he was with Mr Holmes so he was going to know anyway.

'About an hour ago. He were walking northbound.' Sherlock handed the man a ten pound note and he scampered off again.

'To the shelter then.' The detective stated. Jim nodded.

* * *

><p>The two men reached the homeless shelter that the man had spoken about, it was starting to get dark now. A man of average height, with a smiley dispersion looked at the two oddities on his doorstep.<p>

'Well if it isn't the two nutters. Ma boy John as already left, I'm afraid. Surprised you haven't seen him, actually. He said he'd finished the game.' The man had a very strong cockney accent. Jim gave Sherlock an odd glance.

'So what did he say? Before he left.' The Irishman pressed. Steve rubbed his chin.

'Well, you two have really done a number on him, I'll say. He was real down. He unloaded his troubles on me then he stayed for about four, five hours. Uh, we just chatted, ya know, like catching up. I'm thinking of getting the lads together and having a night down the pub. Lord knows, he could do with a break from you two, if ya all he says ya are, anyways.' The man chuckled to himself. Sherlock could see Moriarty bristle as his questioned hadn't actually been answered and he shot a warning glance. John would never forgive either of them if one of his old army friends was brutally murdered.

'We'll be off then, that man gets kidnapped more often than pretty, blonde haired, seven year old girls.' The detective said, turning his back on the ex-army soldier. Moriarty bowed his head in apology for his companions rude departure. He found that being… not nice exactly but courteous, made people more likely to remember good things which meant they didn't think you were capable of murder or gruesome crimes. It made watching their surprised reactions that much more fun. The consulting criminal followed his rival down the street, back in the direction of the flat.

'So he was on his way back home.' Sherlock mused while he walked. 'He would have probably come straight home, he wouldn't be hiding himself because he wouldn't care if we found him and swiped him off the street.'

'So that means someone else could have bundled him into a car.' Jim said, looking for any CCTV. He wasn't surprised to find that there wasn't any in the entire area.

'So if, hypothetically speaking, that big brother of yours discovered the little arrangement we have going on, out of everyone, who is he going to lay the blame on?' The consulting criminal asked.

'John, of course.' Sherlock replied, oblivious to the obvious.

'And if he managed to get hold of John, knowing this, what would happen?' Jim couldn't quite believe that the consulting detective hadn't got what he was saying yet.

'Well, he'd probably have some twisted tortured lined up which John would have no control over and he'd probably stop him from ever seeing the light of day again.' The lanky Holmes answered, still looking down the street. Moriarty stared in disbelief, this man was impossible. How could he be so clever and not realise what was being said?

'Mycroft has John.' He yelled, losing his temper. Sherlock blinked at him.

'Oh.'


	16. Chapter 16

John blinked, blurry eyed. He looked around the small room. A chair and a desk. Other than that, the room was entirely bare. Not even a bed. The doctor lifted himself off the floor were his unconscious body had been dumped and sat on the chair. In front of him, there was quite clearly a two-way mirror. John eyed it warily, it wasn't beyond Mycroft to make it so that he had a guard or some random person watching him 24/7.

'So I suppose 'human rights' don't exist in here then.' He called, not expecting a reply. There wasn't one so he continued. 'To be honest, I haven't really had any human rights since I moved in with Sherlock. Not really. Always someone watching, isn't there?' He paused for a moment. 'Yes well… Wake me up when the food comes, won't you? If it doesn't come then just let me sleep, I'd much prefer to die of starvation while unconscious if you don't mind.' John grumbled, slipping off the chair and curling up on the floor, taking his jacket off and putting it over his head to block out the bright lights overhead. He knew he probably wasn't going to be able to get to sleep, but he might as well act like it. He didn't have anything better to do and he didn't know if he was going to actually get the chance to sleep again. As soon as his eyes closed, a sound boomed, vibrating through him. It felt like it cut right through his flesh and rattled his bones. He sat up, and covered his ears, trying to protect them from the noise which seemed to try to burst his eardrums. The sound stopped and a nasal voice appeared from the overhead speakers.

'I'm so sorry. I've been ordered to keep you awake. The speakers will play every time you try to go to sleep or close your eyes. I'm so, so sorry.' The voice cut off and John nodded to the screen. It seemed that his guard didn't like to hurt his captives. The soldier decided he would try his best to stay awake for a bit, perhaps when the guards changed he would get some rest. Whenever that was.

* * *

><p>Sherlock stormed into Mycroft's office, the staff all knew him and let him in without complaint, on the occasion when they had tried to stop him entering he had somehow managed to get in and had destroyed their entire system security out of spite. If the boss didn't want his brother to enter, the man wouldn't even get to the office. The younger Holmes wasn't happy about something, the receptionist made sure to bring the sound boards up to try to limit the amount of sound. Mycroft was usually quite good at keeping any loud noises in his office, which was sound proofed. His brother, however; seemed to enjoy alerting everyone in a five mile radius to the source of his grievance. Especially if the source was (or was somehow linked to) Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock thundered down the corridor and burst through the doors. His brother was sat beside a desk with files threatening to cave in on him either side, though he wasn't actually doing anything with any of them-all of his actual work was on his phone, much easier that way-and they were mostly just for show.<p>

'Good afternoon, dear brother.' He sighed nonchalantly, barely looking up from his desk. Sherlock gritted his teeth together in a failing attempt to remain composed.

'Give him back.' He hissed.

'Pardon?' This time, the elder Holmes did look up from the desk, not a trace of anything shown on his face.

'Give him back. Now.' Sherlock repeated with a growl.

'I honestly can't say I know whom you are talking about, Sherlock.' Mycroft replied innocently, with the air of someone who had much more important things to do than deal with his young sibling having a tantrum.

'I know that you have John and I want him back. Give him back to me now.' The detective was now fighting desperately to keep control of himself, the minute he started to shout, this game would be over.

'You mean to tell me that John had disappeared again? My, that man seems to get kidnapped on rather an alarming basis, don't you think. It's amazing to think how many people want a piece of your little soldier, in more ways than one, I imagine. Just look at how many times Moriarty has taken hold of the man. It's almost as if John wants to be kidnapped by him. Strange that. So how do you know that the consulting criminal, as he likes to call himself, hasn't taken your darling John?' Mycroft asked. Sherlock was seething, the calming breaths not doing anything for him.

'Just give him back.' His voice was warning, verging on the threatening tone he used to get answers from particularly tricky suspects. It was a tone he had never used on his brother before and, despite his resentment for the man, he had never wanted to use it on him either.

'Ah, but of course! You know all about the little games, don't you. In fact, you agreed to it. Let Moriarty have John for a day or two, what could be the harm in that? How could you be so naïve, brother? Could you not see that your newly found psychopath friend would play rough? I can show you the good doctors medical report if you would like to see just what Jimmy got up to behind closed doors. Did you realise that right at this moment, Moriarty is in the flat, rifling through your possessions?' Sherlock's mouth hung open in shock. 'Oh? You thought he cared for John? How sweet. The minute the man is gone, he's using the trust he built to get the advantage. Luckily for you, I've sent a team round to apprehend him before he gets anything important out of your cock up.' Mycroft finished, now staring right at his little brother, though it felt to Sherlock like the man was instead staring right through him.

A warning alarm beeped from the computer on the desk and Mycroft looked at it with a puzzled expression. His confusion cleared and he lifted his eyes back up to his brothers face with a new expression, one which seemed to be a cross between annoyance and also pride.

'I must congratulate you, Sherlock.' He stated. 'I had not expected you to come up with this.' The detective smirked. If he didn't have a plan, he would have marched straight to Mycroft's office the moment he knew the man had his flatmate. As it turned out, there had been a gap of about thirty six hours. Plenty of time to set up a plan. Of course, Mycroft didn't realise that he knew he had John until about an hour ago when the detective was seen on several hidden cameras, making his way to the office, though he made sure to hide from the obvious ones. The government officials mobile rang and he answered it, listening to the person on the other side speaking.

'There is no reason to stay, pull out.' He said gruffly once the person on the other end finished speaking. He then smiled at Sherlock.

'Hmm, this plan was quite a large one wasn't it?' He asked sweetly. The detective kept his face completely straight.

'I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about, dear brother.' He replied, mocking the innocent tone which the elder Holmes brother had used moments before. The government official stood up and walked round so that he was in front of the desk.

'Well that little beeping sound was a warning to say that a system crack had been found. Now we don't know how long that had been there but I would guess it was about ten minutes. Nor do we know what was taken, if anything, but I can guess that too. My personal files are most likely compromised, just as a guess that is.' Mycroft was now right in front of Sherlock, staring straight into his eyes but his younger sibling wasn't giving anything away.

'That little phone call I just received was the team I sent to your flat. It seems that the person who was there was just a man who bared a strikingly resemblement to James Moriarty and not the man himself. Strange that, it's almost as if he was placed there to mislead me.' The elder Holmes mused.

'Are you insinuating that I planned for my own flat to get broken into?' Sherlock asked, he found these word games tiresome but it was how politics worked and he still had the job of keeping his brother occupied.

'Of course not, I'm merely suggesting that you perhaps were aware of the possibility.' Mycroft replied, he was a master of this game. No, that wasn't quite right. He was _the_ master of this game. No one to date had been able to outmanoeuvre him. 'And as for the man himself, well isn't it alarming how much he shares in common with your psychopathic rival. In fact, I feel I must call for a blood test, just to check that they aren't in fact identical twins.' Sherlock still didn't let anything slip in his expression, Mycroft didn't expect him to.

'Enough of this, brother, you are trying to draw me away from the reason I came in here. I want John back and I want him back now.' Sherlock growled. The government official raised an eyebrow.

'I hope you realise how childish that sounded.' He chuckled. The detective gave him a death glare.

'I am well aware of the fact but it is the only way to get you to listen to me. I try speaking on your own level and you take it as a challenge. Now stop arsing about. I know you have him and I swear if you've done anything to him I'll do so much worse to you.' He hissed. Mycroft smiled ruefully and walked back to sit in his chair.

* * *

><p>For the next ten minutes, Sherlock tried to regain Mycroft's attention to no avail. All he managed to do was wind himself up more until he snapped. The younger Holmes brother stormed forward and knocked the files off of the desk. He hissed and brought his right index finger up to his mouth. Mycroft looked up.<p>

'What seems to be the problem?' He asked, ignoring the paper and folders now scattered across what used to be his pristine floor.

'Paper cut.' Sherlock answered with the finger still in his mouth. The government official was busy tapping on his phone, though he still looked at his brother.

'You shouldn't do that.' He said in a motherly tone. 'You'll only draw more blood to the cut.'

'Piss off.' Came the snide reply.

* * *

><p>Another five minutes went by in silence before the government official stood up and moved towards the door which lead to a different room behind the office, though the door itself was hidden, Sherlock already knew that a) it existed and b) where the door was so Mycroft didn't see how the need for secrecy with his brother was needed. He turned to the man anyway.<p>

'So is there any need for you to still be here?' He asked. Sherlock stared through him.

'I will get him back. I swear to you now that this is not the end of this. How dare you take him from me.' Then the detective stalked out again, insulting one office worker, making another cry and outing a secret relationship of two others.


	17. Chapter 17

The detective took a highly scenic route back to his flat, one which bypassed every camera. Even the hidden ones. He knew that doing so would alert his brother that he knew not only the existence of these hidden cameras but were they all where as well. That meant that they would soon be moved to a new location that he would have to find without being spotted. Sherlock hated finding the bugs, it was tedious dull and overall a chore, but right now he was too irritated to care. He wanted to show his brother just how much his advantage had waned since they last went against each other.

* * *

><p>Back at 221b, Sherlock put the kettle on and set out two cups. The water boiled and he filled both cups before putting them each on a tray and carrying it back in to the living room with him. He sat down on his sofa and waited patiently, his fingers steepled under his chin. The door leading up to John's room swung open and Moriarty strolled in. He eyed the tea appreciatively and sat down opposite Sherlock, taking a cup from the tray. The taller male then took the one remaining cup, added sugar from the small pot on the table and took a sip. They casual drank the hot liquid for a few moments before any conversation started.<p>

'I sorted out your bug infestation after our guests left.' Jim stated calmly. The left corner of Sherlock's mouth flicked to a smile then back to serene indifference, he had known Mycroft would have used such a time to put the bugs back into the flat. It was nice to know he didn't have to worry about them.

'While also planting a few of your own, I imagine.' He answered. Moriarty shrugged.

'Well you do seem to enjoy going on a bug hunt yourself, it keeps you occupied for an hour or so. Stops the boredom, yes? Had we had the time, I would have enjoyed watching you look for them yourself but, alas, we have work to do so it shall have to wait.' He drawled. Sherlock smirked and took another sip of his tea.

'So how did your virtual excursion go?' The detective asked. Jim waved away his question.

'You know yourself that it was success. It was almost too easy to slip through a security system that I built myself, though Big Brother doesn't know that nugget of information as of yet and I would be much obliged if you kept it to yourself. But, I digress. It took me less that three minutes to get in to the file. You are not going to like what I found though.' He replied. Sherlock leant forward, placing the cup on the coffee table.

'Go on.' He stated. Jim threw him an amused glance.

'You were about fifteen metres away from him when you were occupying your darling brother.' He chuckled. The detective's expression suddenly became stormy. Inside his mind, his palace was shaking under the force of a giant earthquake. _I good have saved him an hour ago. He could be back here right now. _He knew that Mycroft would have hidden him in the obvious but to know that he was so close to him and he still missed was an awful feeling. But it also meant that he now knew exactly where John was.

* * *

><p>John had managed to keep himself awake for many hours. Though he wasn't especially tired, not falling asleep was a lot harder than it sounded when there was quite literally nothing else to do. He hadn't heard anything since the guard had apologised for blasting him with the rib-shattering sound, he kinda hoped the man didn't get into trouble for speaking because he seemed like a nice sort of chap. The door opened, and a group of three entered. They weren't particularly large but John could tell they were strong. Two held him in place while the other produced a knife. The doctor stood tall, well this could very well be his last moments alive and he wasn't going to go out pleading for his life. He was slightly surprised when one of the man grasped his arm and yanked it forward, palm facing up. The one with the knife then dug the blade into his finger and slash towards himself, the metal scraped against the bone and John howled in pain. The knife came out and the men let go, John dropped to his knees and cradled his hand. As they left, one of the men who had been hold him down threw a first aid kit his way. The doctor looked down at it, biting back the tears. It seemed that he was expected to sew himself back together. The soldier thought about testing to see how long they would wait before someone came in and did it for him but he decided against it, there was a very high chance that somebody wouldn't be sent at all. He grabbed the first aid kit and opened it quickly. Inside was a needle, thread, bandage and a couple of antiseptic wipes. Not trusting the equipment given to him one bit, John used the wipes to clean the needle and thread. His finger, though bleed profusely, was only a cut. Nothing important had been severed. With his left hand, John threaded the eye of the needle then began work, sewing his finger closed. It was a good thing that he was partly ambidextrous or the chances would be that he wouldn't be able to sew himself up at all.<p>

When the gash was no longer bleeding, John wiped it again with the wipe then wrapped the bandage around it. He made sure to wrap the injured finger with the one next to it as a sort of split. He didn't think it was broke but there was a high risk of some damage to the bone. Once everything had been sorted, he looked up to the two-way mirror.

'Did you enjoy that, Mycroft?' He asked. 'If you're still there, of course.' He smiled childishly and turned away again, sitting with his back against one of the side walls. For some strange reason, he wasn't in any pain, the doctor decided that he was probably in shock which was numbing his ability to feel his injuries.

'Isn't someone going to come in and take this first aid kit away before I stab myself with the needle or something?' He asked out loud. When no one appeared, John grasped the first aid kit again. A sudden wave of gut wrenching sound wave forced him to drop the box and grip his sides, trying to hold himself together.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.' John looked up, the sound had stopped but it's effects were still playing with his every fibre of being.

'Ah, Mycroft. I thought that you would piss off after your minions sliced me. A busy man like you.' He gasped, unable to see the man but knowing he now had teh bastards attention.

'You really enjoy playing with my patience, don't you, Dr Watson?' The government official drawled. The soldier shot him a valiant attempt at a smile.

'Of course, it's something I learnt off your brother. He's much better looking, probably a damn sight stronger too. You know the first time he fucked me, he lifted me right off the ground. I couldn't walk straight for ages but it was one of the best things I've ever done.' He replied, his voice still rasping. John wouldn't normally talk about what he did behind the curtains but the chances of him leaving this room alive were virtually nil so if he was going down, he might as well go down insulting the twat that signed his death warrant. The soldier waited patiently for the retaliation, he could almost hear the rage being held back in the deathly silence. John knew from experience that the one sure fire way to piss someone off was to talk about having sex with their sibling, Harry had stolen one too many girlfriends off of him and that was the usual snide remark they gave him when he asked why they left him for his sister.

'You are going to regret saying that, Dr Watson.' Mycroft growled. John smirked.

'Don't be scared, it's only sex.' He sniggered, lungs feeling like they were going to collapse in on him. The speaker clicked, leaving John to wonder what was going to happen next.

* * *

><p>'So let me get this straight.' Jim stated in amusement. 'You want me to start a massive crime wave, and frame government officers, putting the spotlight on your brother as well as many others, enough that he doesn't become too suspicious. This would force Big Brother to act and would allow you to get into his secret little room and retrieve our John, yes?' Sherlock nodded. The criminal chuckled. 'Well I'm afraid you are going to have to ask me properly then.' The detective scowled at him. They were both working for the same cause and Moriarty was still playing this one-upmanship game like he couldn't care less if John died or not.<p>

'Dear Jim, please could you help me?' Sherlock asked swallowing his pride, though he was also counting the ways he could kill that smug bastard right now and save John himself. The consulting criminal smiled cheerfully.

'Consider it done.'

* * *

><p>John hadn't heard from Mycroft, or anyone in fact, for at least five hours. That said, he couldn't possibly know how long he'd been locked in the cell. The doctor decided that this was probably a good thing, he remembered that Mycroft told him what ever happened to Sherlock would happen to him, only worse. That meant that Sherlock had gone all that time without properly injuring himself. Tiredness was now a constant, along with the dull throb of pain from his hand. John was seriously considering asking for something to do, if he got an answer it would be 'no' but by that, they would have given him something to do which would make it a win-win situation for him. He also wanted to state that he wasn't regretting anything yet but that was just plain suicidal. The soldier stifled a yawn and started to count the specks of dust that were dancing in the air. John shivered and realised that the temperature had dropped considerably. He placed a hand against the metal of the chair close to him and immediately pulled away. It was a lot colder that it had been before. Which meant it was probably going to get even colder. The doctor gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms round his chest, balling his hands into fists in an attempt to keep himself warm. It took him a moment to realise that his jacket was still on the floor beside him. John stared at the item of clothing for many minutes before he actually reached for it and put it on, shivering again as the cold fabric touched his skin. It seemed he had found what was meant to make him regret now. At least, he hoped he did. If this was not what was supposed to make him regret what he said earlier then… The doctor decided that thinking about how much worse things could get was not the best course of action. Besides, the cold numbed the pain. That was a good thing. Sort of.<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock snuck through the window and slowly slid the glass back until it was half a centimetre from the bottom, how it had been before he opened it. He then slipped across to the desk, staying as close to the wall as possible. Once he got to the table, he ran his hands over the wooden underside before flicking the switch under the table of the desk, the one which was closest to the draw-Mycroft had installed two switches and two buttons. All but the switch he flicked sounded an alarm and deadlocked the entire building. Still, that hurdle was far behind him now. The detective backed against the wall again and sidestepped until he got to the, now open, hidden door. With one last quick glance around, the consulting detective slipped inside, knowing the door would close behind him automatically.

* * *

><p>In an undisclosed location, Moriarty watched a large screen with rapt attention as his temporary business partner made his way down the dark corridor. The walls seemed to be based on secret passage ways in old buildings, with brick walls and barely any light, only enough to see about a metre in front. When the consulting detective came to a completely smooth wall with a screen pass-code device he stopped the screen didn't have any numbers, or anything in fact, on it.<p>

'Ok, genius, now would be a good time to show some of that computer smarts.' The detective muttered as he looked at the device, trying to work out a way around it himself. Jim chuckled and began tapping the keyboard in front of him with an almost inhuman speed.

'Don't cry, daddy's here.' He cooed, unable to stop the smirk from showing in his voice. 'Put the phone up against the screen.' Sherlock did so and the criminal began tapping the keyboard again, the smirk still on his face. Big Brother probably thought he was being smart when he installed this pad. It used light, or more accurately the absence of light, as the code. Only those who knew the code could get through. Or so they thought. Moriarty sniggered as he thought on the idiots that ran the country.

'Yes, yes, I'm sure your malicious thoughts are highly entertaining but could you please hurry it up?' Sherlock hissed. The consulting criminal rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to sending the software to crack the code. Some people were so impatient, all to busy to get to the destination that they didn't both to enjoy the journey. Though he supposed that this time, the destination was fairly important, he still refused to believe that they wouldn't get John back whereas Sherlock wasn't sure.

'Be patient, Shirley. I wouldn't let you fail. Johnny is far too precious to me.' Jim replied, hitting the button to send the software.

* * *

><p>The device beeped twice then turned green. The wall slid away to reveal another corridor, this one brightly lit with white lights overhead. The walls and ceiling were plastered, as well as paint white, while the floor was tiled. Sherlock made his way down the path, checking behind him every few minutes. Not that it would help, there was nowhere he could hide should anyone appear. The pathway was a lot wider than the one before, wide enough that people could pass each other with ease. He came to another end. This one clearly had a door with a handle. The detective crouched against the floor and peered into the lock. He had his lock picking kit with him but from the looks of it, that wasn't going to be enough to open the door. Sherlock picked up the kit and was about to try when he heard a faint buzzing sound coming from inside. He wasn't sure if it was inside the lock or inside the room and he certainly wasn't about to take chances.<p>

'I need this door open.' He murmured. There was a shrill laugh through his ear-piece and he gritted his teeth to stop him insulting the criminal. They were close now and the chance was that someone would hear if he talked too loud. Sherlock heard a sharp click and he pressed the handle down. The door swung open.

'There you go, Sweetie.' Moriarty cooed. The detective ignored him and entered.

* * *

><p>The room was small and dark, the only light coming from a window into the next room along. Sherlock kept close to the wall, there was a single person on a chair. The detective wondered why he hadn't noticed the minute the door had opened but on closer inspection, the man seemed to be asleep. Sherlock clenched his jaw in anger. The person meant to be watching over John was taking a nap. What happened if the doctor was dying? They wouldn't know. John could already be dead and they wouldn't know. They probably wouldn't care either. Sherlock could feel the blind fury rising within him. He watched the man for many moments, his head filled with the best methods to kill someone. Painfully. He knew that he couldn't do it though, there was a high chance that the man was hooked up to a monitoring system. The second that he stopped breathing, Mycroft would know. The consulting detective looked in the small bag that he had brought with him, the one which contained his lock picking kit. After retrieving the necessary equipment, he slipped across to the man and bound him to the chair, not tightly enough to wake him but tight enough that he wouldn't be able to escape without some outside help.<p>

'I told you that rope would come in useful.' An Irish voice chirped. 'If I were you I'd hood him too. We wouldn't want him to recognise you, though I guess Big Brother wouldn't need an eye witness account to know it was you.' Sherlock didn't bother with a snide reply, of which he had thousands, instead finding a hood and placing it over the sleeping guards head. After a quick skirt round the room, checking that there were no hidden cameras- he hadn't expected there to be as if anyone found a way to hack into such a thing they would have proof that even the secret Prime Minister wouldn't be able to deny- Sherlock to look into the adjacent room, the source of the bright light.

* * *

><p>Mycroft was not happy. And when Mycroft wasn't happy the one place you didn't want to be was anywhere near him. Kelaeno, has she was called today, knew this better than most. As secretary to Mycroft Holmes, she had access to almost everything business related. Of course, she didn't hold anything on his private life, though she expected that the man didn't have one. The only time he wasn't working to achieve some goal was when he was sleeping. She also knew that someone had cracked the carefully built walls around his work. She had never seen her boss so shaken as when he found that he was the suspect in a number of fraud cases, along with twenty or so other government officials. He was outraged that his presence had been found, he prided himself on being the secret leader of the country. The one behind the curtain who sorted out all the problems, the one who ruled without being seen. If you weren't seen then you couldn't be caught. Kelaeno picked up her blackberry and strolled towards Mycroft. While it was true that you didn't want to be anywhere near an unhappy Mycroft Holmes, she didn't have a choice. He would be far more angry if she wasn't on time.<p>

'Good morning, Sir.' The woman said, making sure not to sound too cheerful. Her boss glanced at her.

'I want you to get rid of my name from that list. I don't appear anywhere on the fraud case, or any other case. I don't exist. That is your top priority today.' He stated, turning away. Kelaeno blinked, she had thought that the boss would have wanted to have dealt with that himself, to make sure there was no mistakes. Not that there would be, Kelaeno was the best in the business when it came to changing files- it would be child's play for her to do as she'd been asked. Still, Mr Holmes would also be able to sort it out for himself just as easily and he often liked to do these things for himself to make sure it was done properly. That meant he had something else which was taking his attention. Filing the strange behaviour away for later reflection, Kelaeno hacked into the database and began the search for the files.

* * *

><p>'John? John!? Can you hear me?' The voice sounded familiar but, in his cold-addled haze, the doctor couldn't quite work out whose voice it was. He turned his head to the door as it burst open and a tall figure rushed in. The soldier tried to stand up, still trying to figure out who this person was; tall, lanky with black curly hair and… he couldn't tell the finer details, his sight was a bit of a blur. All his mind could tell him was that that person was safe. He would be save with that person. He only had to get to them. The person walked up to him, arms outstretched.<p>

'John! It's me. John. I swear I will kill him for this.' The voice was threatening and suddenly, the doctor wasn't sure if this person was actually safe. The words were floating passed his ears, not really sinking in, so he had to listen to the tone of voice.

'John, please speak to me.' The person begged. The doctor only stared up at the face. What was _John_ anyway? Some of the words he understood but not that one. His body had long since stopped shivering and now seemed to have excepted that it would never be warm again. Warm arms engulfed him and lifted him off the concrete floor. The person turned round and swiftly exited the room.

* * *

><p>With John cradled in his arms, Sherlock made his way back to the door. Just as his hand hovered over the handle, Jim spoke up.<p>

'Stop. Don't do that.' The detective waited patiently for the git to tell him why, it was the only way out so he was going to have to touch it at some point. 'The handle is electrified on the inside of the door. You can get in but you can't get back out again.' The Irishman stated. The detective's heart leapt in his ribcage, though he forced it to return to it's natural pattern before it became an issue.

'There has to be another way out then.' He growled. 'Find it and find it quickly.' Sherlock could here the clicking as Moriarty rapidly searched for another way out of the enclosed room.

'Right then.' The consulting criminal said finally. 'This is where it gets interesting.'

* * *

><p>Kelaeno cast a gaze in the direction of her boss. She'd completely wiped his name from all the files on the case, along with two other people. One whom she knew and owed a favour to and the other was a person who they couldn't afford to be found out as a fraudster, he was a gem when it came to finding information and to find and train another person for such a job would be time consuming. Not to mention they would have to find someone trustworthy. No, it was far better to keep the one they already had, which inadvertently made him a very protected person. Now that the task was done, she could being to wonder what could possibly hold Mycroft's attention so. There was only one thing, that she knew of, which affected him in this way. That was Sherlock. His little brother. Sherlock might call him an archenemy and try everything possible to get one up on him but Kelaeno knew that Mycroft didn't care. He would do anything to protect his younger sibling. Sadly, that meant that he wasn't adverse to using methods to which were frowned upon. On more than one occasion, she herself had had to cover up the use of such methods before the public found out that the government still had the capabilities to kidnap, mutilate and even assassinate people who had lost favour with the powerful.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>Kelaeno is the Greek Godness of storms, in this verse, Anthena changes her own name-usually daily.  
>Anyway, sory for the long wait.<p>

B  
>x<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

This was insane. It was insane and stupid and he was going to kill himself and John for even attempting it.

'When I say jump.' Jim stated in his ear piece. Sherlock gulped and stepped up to the gaping hole.

'Jump.' The detective leapt, not even thinking about it, which was an impressive feat for him. He landed with a soft whump onto what appeared to be sand. If he had been told five minutes ago that the escape Moriarty had found him entailed leaping across a hole which fired poisoned darts at intervals which were a mystery to him, though obviously not for his 'business partner', he would have his chances with Mycroft. Still, had his brother caught him then the chances of John still being with him were cavernously low. Jim had directed him to a small section of the wall which had an indent. When that was pressed the whole backing wall of the room John had been held in slid away. It was like one of those movies that the doctor liked to watch. Indiana or something stupid like that. Sherlock couldn't believe that someone would go to such outrageous lengths when lasers or a security system that was worth it's weight would suffice. It was all stupid and why on earth wasn't he dead yet?

'Well done Shirley.' Moriarty praised motherly, completely taking the piss. 'Now might I suggesting getting out of there? We have a large pompous visitor walking down the corridor. I'll close the wall back as late as I can but as soon as I do you will only have the oxygen which is in there now. Get a move on.' The detective didn't need to be told twice, within milliseconds he was back up on his feet and lifting John up again. The doctor's skin was like ice to touch and it didn't take a genius to work out he was suffering from acute hypothermia. Sherlock also noticed the bandage on his hand. One which wasn't there before he had been kidnapped. Saving all the problems for when they got out of the death trap, Sherlock continued down the new path which had opened up for him, hoping that the movie style traps had come to an end.

* * *

><p>That one was close. Jim loved watching adventure movies. He loved them much more than horror movies, though that wasn't surprising since what was perceived as horror to the simpletons which made the movie paled in comparison of what he did on a daily basis. But action and adventure could keep him entertained for hours. For many years, Indiana Jones had been a favourite of his, he loved watching the main character inadvertently set off stupid and completely over the top booby-traps designed to stop people from taking some treasure or something equally valuable. Then he saw Sherlock standing in front of that pit. The man had almost fallen right into it. They watched as darts flew up at strange intervals. After many cycles of watching, Moriarty realised that there was no pattern as to when the darts were released. No pattern at all. If he told Shirley that then the man wouldn't try to cross though, not when he had John. Moriarty checked the screens showing the CCTV for the rest of the building. Mycroft was on his way up. Even if he were able to dismantle the electric current flowing through the door, the system was one which changed every time it was used so though he was able to open the door once, with out the right key it could take him a couple of minutes to unlock it again. That was a couple of minutes they didn't have.<p>

'When I say jump.' He said firmly. Sherlock moved towards the pit, trusting his judgment. Moriarty shook his head, he hadn't expected the detective to put complete trust in him, no matter what situation they found themselves in. John didn't put complete trust in him, nor did Sebastian. The consulting criminal decided that he would have to conduct a few experiments into how stressful situations affected a persons judgement when it came to trust. That wasn't for now though, that was for when John was safely back at home were he could ravage the man as he pleased.

'Jump.'

* * *

><p>The doctor felt the world coming back to him, the process was slow and fragmented but he knew more than he did before. He knew that he was called John Hamish Watson. He was a doctor and an ex-army medic. He currently lived with a Mr Sherlock Holmes and a Mr Jim Moriarty who were both insane madmen and on the wrong side of the law much more than the right but he loved both of them dearly. He was starting to piece back what each man looked like and how they behaved. John had closed his eyes when the tall, dark haired person pick him up. Well he figured that if his safety was here then it wouldn't be painful to close his eyes anymore and he was right, he could close his eyes without his ribs quaking and his stomach vibrating. It must be something to do with his safe person, being with his safe person stopped him from feeling pain. John liked the reason he had given himself, it was a good reason and one which made sense. Well it made sense to him anyway.<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock finally came to a dead end, a rocky cliff face.<p>

'Jim, where do we go now?' He asked. The criminal didn't reply for about a minute.

'I don't know.'

'What do you mean you don't know?' Sherlock snapped.

'There's nothing electrical. I can't open anything. Looking on his design plans, there seems to be a trap door but how you get to it is another problem entirely.' Moriarty answered, at a loss.

'Just tell me.' The detective growled.

'It's right above you. About two metres up.' Sherlock looked up and saw a small indent where the door could be pushed up. He sighed and turned to the doctor.

'John.' He called, uncertain.

'Sssherl-lock?' _Still hypothermic but possibly able to move_.

'Yes, it's me but I need you to do something for me. We don't have a lot of time, John. I need you to follow me.' Sherlock stated. John nodded slowly managed to stand up, holding the wall for support. The detective scaled the wall, purposely picking the easiest wall to climb and not the fastest. He pushed the trap door open and hoisted himself up. John tried to climb up, got half way and stopped.

'What's the problem?' Sherlock called, trying not to be rude.

'Body don't work.' Came the muffled reply. The consulting detective searched his pack for anything of use, now cursing himself for using the rope to confine the guard. Figuring there was nothing left for it, Sherlock lowered himself back through the hole in the floor and dropped down. He then gripped John's feet and slowly eased the pressure off of them.

'I really need you to pull yourself up, John.' He called, keeping his voice as sweet as he could. The detective wanted to tear his vocal cords out for making such a sound but it seemed to be the only tone of voice that John would respond to. It was certainly the only tone that the doctor obeyed. The soldier's hands unclasped from the rock and latched onto the sides of the trap door. The two men then worked in tandem get John up and out. Sherlock quickly scampered back up the wall and slammed the trap door shut as soon as he'd past through it.

'Congratulations, you've passed the maniac booby-trap assault course, courtesy of Big Brother. We hope you enjoyed your stay, now get the fuck out of there before they drag you and the lovely doctor back again.' Jim's voice was initially cheerful but became harder with the last sentence. Sherlock looked at John, he was coming back to his senses slowly but surely. Annoyingly, he wasn't doing it fast enough. The detective took a good look at where they had resurfaced.

'Level two of the building that Big Brother has his office. Four floors down from where you started. Go down the corridor to your left.' Sherlock lifted the doctor over his shoulder and began running in the direction Moriarty had said.

* * *

><p>Mycroft stormed to the chair which held the guard. He had been screaming for ten minutes now, since he'd woken up. The elder Holmes brother couldn't believe it. He had known that someone had set him up with the fraud case, he had been excruciatingly careful with the money he did spend, so much so that nothing he did could be traced back to him. So someone had slipped his name into that. He just didn't expect Sherlock to do such a thing. Now he found that it wasn't just a petty prank to put him off his game, it had all been a ruse to get into his secret room. Mycroft grimaced as he realised that as clever as his little brother was, he could not have managed this on his own. He could not have broken into the server and rescued the doctor at the same time and it was clear that he would trust no one else but himself to retrieve the man. Therefore his accomplice had to be good with computers and very good at hacking. Excellent in fact. The guard whimpered quietly.<p>

'Quit your snivelling and I might entertain the idea of letting you walk out of this room alive.' Mycroft growled. The guard physically shrunk back, an impressive feat for someone still attached to a chair, but didn't make another sound.

* * *

><p>On the curb outside the death trap building, Sherlock stood with John by his side. The detective still had to support the man but at least he could now stand properly. A car pulled up and the detective ushered his partner inside without another thought. He was slightly surprised to find that Moriarty wasn't inside the car, waiting to see that John was definitely alive and well. 'Well' being used in the loosest term of the word and not having any real hold on his actual wellbeing. Sherlock gripped John, who had now begun to shiver again, and held the doctor against him tightly.<p>

'Don't ever leave my sight again.' He growled possessively. 'You can't be trusted to be by yourself. I won't allow you to do that to me again. Ever. You are mine, mine always and don't you dare leave me like that again.' The consulting detective was well aware that he was babbling like a madman but the random rambling did wonders for his dwindling sanity. He had John back again and he was damned if he was going to let his doctor be taken from him again. He couldn't do it, he would not function if he knew that John had been injured or killed.

* * *

><p>They reached Baker Street and Sherlock ushered John up into the flat. Moriarty practically leapt on them the moment they crossed the threshold. He prised the doctor away and checked every inch of his person, removing the bandage to see the sewn up finger. They both stared at it for a few minutes, working on the damage. It was a strange place to be purposely cut. Sherlock instinctively looked at his own finger and saw the faint line where his paper cut had healed. Jim realised what had happened at exactly the same time and scowled darkly.<p>

'Do you mind if I break your skull? I will get you a new one. It will be slightly bigger than this on and will look strikingly like a man you know.' The criminal asked. Sherlock didn't answer, mostly because if he opened his mouth he knew he'd say yes. John was still shivering. Moriarty scampered up the stairs and brought down many blankets. He then guided the two men to Sherlock's bedroom. On the bedside table there was a tray with various hot drinks, each in flasks to keep them hot until they were needed. The criminal stripped John of his clothes and pushed him into the bed, which was now covered in blankets as well as the duvet, before stripping himself. Once he was naked he turned to the detective.

'Will you be joining us? It is your bed after all.' He offered. Sherlock nodded. By the time he was naked, Jim was already cuddling the doctor, both wrapped in blankets, trying to warm the man up. The detective slipped into the bed on the other side and gasped as his fingers found John's ice cold skin. Neither consultant spoke as they shuffled to find a comfortable position that made them both comfortable and able to get some kind of hold on the doctor. When they found the right position, the two men sighed at the same time-each ignoring the other geniuses existence-and watched over the doctor, checking for any sign of change.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>Awww... Some awful almost fluff there. There's one more chapter to go now.

B  
>x<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

John opened his eyes and blinked in the early morning light. He didn't know why he thought it was early morning, it could just as easily be late evening. It just felt like morning. The soldier was suddenly aware of the weights resting down on him. He struggled to be free, remembering the white light and the loud sound and _Mycroft_.

'Hush Johnny, it's ok.' An Irish voice cooed from his side.

'Jim?' He asked, turning his head. The criminal smiled brightly and cupped his face in an almost sweet way.

'John.' A relieved sigh from his other side. The doctor turned and smiled softly.

'Sherlock.' He replied. A strange thought fluttered into his mind.

'Am I naked?' He questioned.

'Yes.' Was the unanimous reply. John nodded, his entire body throbbed with a dull ache. He felt both men against him.

'Are you both naked?' He asked.

'Yes.' John nodded, well he had expected that reply and he was really toasty warm at that moment, though he could remember being deathly cold.

'Where am I?' Now his saviours-which was a scary thought in itself-had grown weary of his questioning.

'You're in Sherlock's bed in 221b Baker Street. We executed the perfect jail break, nobody died, and we got you back here. You were so cold we decided to warm you up a bit. Shirley wouldn't take you to hospital because Big Brother would know that you were out then. Is that enough?' Moriarty snapped. John smiled and snuggled into him, pressing back into Sherlock at the same time.

'Yes.' He answered sleepily. 'This is enough.'

* * *

><p>Sherlock looked at his enemy with a look of almost horror. Moriarty's face mirrored his expression.<p>

'He's not right in the head. Once he wakes up properly, he'll go back to how he was.' The detective said, not truly believing what he said. The criminal had recovered from the initial shock and was now beginning to entertain the idea of sleeping with John at the same time as his rival.

'We're all wrong in the head, Shirley.' He murmured seductively. 'This way you could be sure that I'm not murdering your precious and I will spend more time with him.'

'No. No. This was a one off. I am not sharing a bed with you again. I don't care, it will not happen again.' Sherlock replied firmly, wrapping his arms around the doctors waist and shuffling so he was pressed up completely to the shorter males' back, signalling that the conversation was over. John sighed happily in his sleep and clutched at the consulting criminal, drawing him in closer.

When John woke up again, he sat up and stretched then turned two look at his two geniuses, who stared at him. He smiled with a faint blush on his cheeks and got out of the bed, searching the cupboard for clothes. He was aware that both consultants were watching him and the blush refused to disappear.

'Are you two going to get dressed?' He asked. Sherlock slipped out of the bed and retrieved his clothes from where they fell on the floor. Jim pouted but did the same. John found a set of clothes and slipped into them. He was about to go to the kitchen for tea when a cup was thrust into his hands.

'Drink up, Johnny Boy. You'll feel better.' Moriarty said, a small quirk of a smile on his lips. The criminal expected the doctor to look suspiciously at the cup, to turn it down and make his own, but John just sipped it. It was as if he didn't care anymore. It took all his strength to keep the look of shock off his face. Sherlock seemed just as surprised by this, being behind John he didn't have to keep control of his expression.

* * *

><p>Life continued, though all three men expected a visit from Mycroft Holmes on any given day. John no longer went out on his own, making sure that he always had someone beside him, even if it was only Mrs Hudson. Sherlock refused to let the man out of his sight, apart from when Moriarty had him. The detective had a worrying amount of trust with the criminal, but it was well placed trust as he knew that the psychopath would kill anyone who came near his John. Apart from Mycroft, that was left for Sherlock to deal with, as a sort of present. The detective would love to tear his brother limb by limb and nail each piece to a different building around London but Mummy would like that. She always taught him that family was sacred. It was for her sake that the bastard was still breathing.<p>

The doctor went into a sort of panic every time the temperature dropped by a couple of degrees, he always wore jumpers to try and cover up this. He blamed them for his sweating while under the attack and yet refused to take them off. A strange act but in his mind, it was far better to be perceived as strange than cracking up. He kept himself under control for the masses, only the geniuses could tell when he was panicking. Neither brought it up though, they just made sure to keep an eye on him to make sure that the panic attacks never got any worse. John had spent most of his time with Sherlock suffering from panic attacks, only they manifested themselves in nightmares. After all, the attacks weren't the largest problem they faced. Now the soldier wouldn't sleep. Even when he had Sherlock snuggled up with him, he couldn't do it. His eyelids refused to close and he stared at the ceiling until a reasonable time in the morning when he would get up and dress as if he had spent the night sleeping like normal. The detective worried constantly, deciding to decline all cases until his partner was better. When Jim came round to claim the man for his day, he found the same problem. Only he tried to sort of the problem a different way, by slipping a sleeping pill into the doctors tea.

'Shirley, I think you better get round here.' He stated over the phone. The detective was out the door the moment he heard the screaming in the background.

* * *

><p>John was still screaming when Sherlock reached the small house. He burst in and followed the sound up to the bedroom. Moriarty sat on the end of the bed, the soldier tossed and turned under the covers all the while emitting the shrill shrieking.<p>

'What did you do?' The detective hissed. Jim stared at him.

'I gave him a sleeping draft, he needed to sleep.' Moriarty answered. Sherlock couldn't really say anything, he'd been planning to do the same thing.

'I think I know why he didn't want to sleep anymore.' The taller male stated, moving towards the bed. His enemy nodded, mirroring his movements.

'And now he can't wake up from it.' Both men moved towards the doctor and slipped under the covers. They grabbed the doctor carefully and held him down, muttering softly to try and calm the man down. John relaxed almost instantly, as soon as he was able to tell that two men were with him. The geniuses stared at each other.

'Shit.' Sherlock cursed.

* * *

><p>Moriarty pawed at John's skin. It seemed that the doctor could only sleep when he had both of his partners with him. A worrying thought for most but Jim didn't see how it was a bad thing. Now that Sherlock knew he was needed, the man would be forced to let him stay with them. At least over night. The detective scowled at him.<p>

'No.' He growled.

'So you don't want your precious Johnny to ever sleep again?' Moriarty asked.

'I will get him help and he will stop this.' Sherlock answered darkly. Jim chuckled.

'And you really think that he will agree to this?' He asked The consulting detective sighed. No. John would never agree to such a thing. The psychopath smiled wildly, knowing that he was going to get what he wanted. There was no other way to solve this problem.

'I'll make sure I have some clothes over at the flat. And some pyjamas.' He stated happily. Sherlock gritted his teeth. His enemy rolled his eyes.

'Cheer up, Shirley, it's not like we're going to be fucking him at the same time so what have you got to worry about?'

'I heard that.' The doctor's muffled voice called. He sat up and punched Moriarty in the cheek.

'How dare you drug me you bastard.' The soldier snarled before composing himself and turning to Sherlock. 'I'm sorry. I think we both knew I was going to go insane at some point. The fact that I've kept myself until now is a miracle. It's fine, really. I'm sure I can get past the nightmares eventually.' Sherlock stopped him from speaking.

'Moriarty is moving in. Properly.' He stated, not sounding to happy with the sentence but firm in the belief that he was going to go through with it.

'Wait. What?' The doctor asked. Jim wrapped his arms around the doctors' waist, kissing the back of his neck.

'You need to sleep, Johnny. Did you really think he wouldn't allow it? He worked with me to get you back, after all.' The criminal explained. John nodded and reached for the detective. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled in.

'God, when did life get so complicated?' He asked with his head in the taller males chest. Sherlock chuckled.

'It started when you attracted the attentions of two geniuses.' He replied. A phone beeped and Moriarty flicked out his phone with one hand still wrapped around the doctor.

'And it seems that I have something which needs to be taken care of. I'll meet you two back at the flat.' The consulting criminal stated, slipping his arm free and moving away to take care of whatever problem he had.

* * *

><p>Back at 221b, John sat in his chair with a scolding cup of tea and the TV on, though it wasn't being watched. Sherlock lay on his sofa, watching the doctor carefully.<p>

'He won't get you, John. I will never let him near you again.' The detective stated firmly. His flatmate nodded, but was still tense.

'He knows where we live,Sherlock. I never thought about it before but what if he pops in, or anyone else for that matter? Moriarty is going to be living under our roof. The Napoleon of crime in our house. What if we get found out?' The doctor asked. Sherlock smiled and stroked the blond's hair gently.

'Remember that we've killed as well John, I don't think we're in a prison cell just yet. We won't be found out, I can promise you that. Though I can't promise that the criminal activities will stop.' John mulled over what had been said then smiled brightly, looking the most relaxed he had been since the whole problem started. Sherlock kept his hands around his partner possessively, allowing his smile to falter now that John was no longer looking at him. They weren't out of the woods yet. They weren't even close.

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong>AN-<strong> Woah now! Hold your stones and various blunt objects. There will be a sequel to this. In fact, I've already started it. Please don't kill me just yet.

Thanks for the reviews and I hope you enjoyed it, even if you all hate me now.

B  
>x<p> 


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